Lost
by CIFan812
Summary: This was the only way to make sure that Sam lived and that they would both be okay without me dragging them down. *Final Chapter is up.* Rated for sexual & nonsexual violence, rape & language. No Wincest.
1. Lost

_A/N: Contains male rape, so if that makes you feel queasy, stop reading now. This is something that's been kicking around in my head for a while. Hope you like it. Tell me what you think, either way. Maybe my muse will be inspired to write more..._

_-Angie_

**Lost**

It's been a year since I lost my big brother. The hardest part is his body is still here. It still occupies the bed closest to the door, still tries to take all the abuse for me in a fight, still hunts and kills with a frightening proficiency. But I haven't seen those eyes light up with genuine joy _once_ in all this time. He doesn't have to be passed out drunk to sleep through an entire night anymore, but he still wakes up screaming sometimes and I can't do anything about it. The last time I tried I got a six inch scar for my trouble. The only thing that kept that damn knife of his from slicing my heart in half was twenty years of begrudging training and reflexes honed from growing up with someone like Dean. The way he used to be… God, I'd give anything for him to just pull a prank on me. _Anything_. But he isn't the same, and he almost killed me. I could see the remorse in his eyes. He trembled and blinked away tears. It took twenty minutes for him to stop shaking enough to sow me up but he refused to give up his knife. I can understand that. He wants to protect himself and I can't fault him for it. I couldn't protect him last year. Why would I expect him to think I can now?

The therapist told me to start this stupid thing, this journal. I go to her to figure out how to help my brother, how to bring him back from the pit he's been stuck in for the past thirteen months because the damn stubborn bastard refuses to go for himself and what does she do? She tells me I need to get in touch with my feelings. _My_ feelings? I'm perfectly in touch with my feelings, thank you very fucking much. I'm angry and I'm frustrated and I'm guilty and I'm _useless_. Really, what else is there for me to feel? How the hell am I supposed to feel anything different?

I have nothing to vent my anger on except the things that we hunt. Sometimes I get as excessive as he does and I swear that if something doesn't change soon, someone's gonna get seriously hurt. Like _dead_ hurt. Dean won't talk about what happened… he never talked about what happened. But I know. How could I not? I saw the injuries, I took him to the emergency room when he was passed out from blood loss, heard the pronouncement of the doctor, saw the look of disgust from one of the nurses who somehow got the impression that it was me who did that to him. I wanted to punch the stupid bitch because how could anyone think that I would do _that_ to my own brother? My freaking _hero_. I've never even thought about hitting a woman – at least one that wasn't possessed or some evil supernatural creature – in my life, but I really wanted to that day.

I'd be lying if I said that I've never wanted to kill someone in my life. I'm pretty sure that the occasional murderous rage goes hand in hand with being a Winchester, and no matter how much we try to escape it we all end up there at some point. But really, what I wanted to do to those sons of bitches who hurt my brother wasn't just murder. It was the worst torture a very fertile imagination fed by years of researching, and seeing and enduring torture could come up with. I'm also pretty sure that I would have gone through with it too… that I'd still would go through with it. But my jackass of a brother wouldn't tell me who did it. Wouldn't even admit what it was they did. Just kept trying to feed me some bullshit about hustling the wrong people and getting his ass kicked. He was fine. No big deal. Yeah, since when does an ass kicking require stitches to your damn rectum? And what about those fucking hand prints on his hips and thighs? Or the bruises around his throat? But he wouldn't look at me, and he flinched whenever I touched him. So I did the only thing I could do. I packed up our stuff before I picked him up from the hospital the next day and took him to a different part of town until he was healed enough to travel.

I would have gone looking for the bastards. I did actually, the first night my brother was out of the hospital. But I came back to find Dean not only awake but in the shower, huddled in the corner sobbing. The water had long since turned cold and he was shivering, on the edge of hypothermia. I turned off the water and reached for him, towel in my hand to wrap him in. He flinched away and my heart sunk into my stomach. I could hear his damn teeth chattering.

"Dean," I said as gently as I could, my voice shaking and hoarse, "I need to get you warm, man. Please."

"Sammy?" His voice sounded thin, broken. I could barely understand him with the chattering and shivering.

"Yeah Dean?"

"Di… did they… did they… hurt you?" He looked up at me, and his eyes were wide and terrified. He looked all of about five years old. All I wanted to do was scream at the top of my lungs.

"No. I'm fine. I swear. Please Dean, let me get you warm."

"Doesn't matter," he said as he looked away, his eyes empty again as if his fear had used up the last of him. He rocked in the tub, spasming from cold. "Doesn't matter anymore."

I felt him giving up, slipping away. I panicked. I didn't know what to do or say. But I did, didn't I? Cause I was the consummate little brother. I'd always known just how to manipulate Dean. I knew how to get exactly what I wanted, because he was always so ready to give me everything anyway. So I took advantage of that. I took advantage of him. And I've never been so ashamed of myself in my life. Unfortunately, that's saying one hell of a lot. "I need you, Dean. You promised me you'd stay, that you wouldn't leave me. Don't go back on your word."

I watched as he pulled himself together, saw the effort it took. Finally he took the towel from me and clutched it to his chest. "I'll be out in a minute Sam." When I didn't move he looked up at me again. His features were carved out of stone, the way they were when he was truly pissed, but his eyes were still empty. "Get out. Now!"

I stood and walked out on shaky legs, feeling like I was going to throw up. How the hell could I have done that to him? How could I have emotionally blackmailed my brother after he was… after what happened to him? It hadn't even been four days and I was already piling on a man who was all but broken. But I couldn't take the chance that I'd come back to the hotel with food to find his body, his favorite gun in his hand, his brain scattered across a wall. If I had to use emotional blackmail to keep that from ever happening, then God help me I will.

True to his word, he was out of the bathroom in less than a minute. He made his way to his bed on shaky legs and threw himself on it. I wanted to offer my body heat, because Dad taught us that was the fastest way to warm up, but I knew that physical contact was probably the last thing he needed right now. Instead, I went to him, ignoring how he cringed when I came near, and pulled the blanket from underneath him and cover him up. I followed that up with my own blanket.

"Don't do it again, Sammy." His voice was so soft I almost thought it was my imagination.

"Don't do what?" I paused as I tucked in the second blanket and looked down at him.

"Go looking for them."

"Why not?"

"Who's the better fighter, Sam?" He said it calmly, no bragging or bravado. Just a statement of fact.

"But you were drunk and hurt Dean. Your ribs, and you had stitches."

"When has that ever stopped me from being able to kick your skinny ass?"

I stopped then, realizing what he was trying to tell me. Understanding that he wanted to protect me. I didn't want to give this up, though. "I can go after them one at a time, Dean."

He shook his head. "I won't see you become a murderer and I won't see you hurt. You're all I got. You and Dad. Nothin' else. I can't lose half my family just 'cause I couldn't protect myself."

"It's not your fault."

"Sam-"

"No, Dean! I don't ever want you to blame yourself again."

He sighed. I knew that sigh. He didn't agree with me but he wasn't going to argue. He still blames himself. Which leads me to the frustration. I don't know what else to try, what else to say. Nothing gets through to him and if I talk about it too much he gets this look and I think that if I don't shut my pie hole right the hell then he'll just walk out and put a bullet in his head. So I just live with it, like a third person traveling with us. It's always there, between us, infecting everything. I can't even talk to Dad about it because Dean made me swear not to tell him. '_Don't tell Dad what happened last month, Sammy.' 'What exactly _did_ happen last month Dean?' _He gave me that look and I let it go._ 'Swear.'_ His voice broke on the word and I agreed before I even realized the words were coming out of my mouth. So I can't talk to Dad, I can't talk to Dean and the therapist who's stupid idea this journal was is three thousand miles away in a town I may never see the inside of again. I can't find the bastards who did this to my brother, and I really don't want to go find another therapist. So, yeah, loads of frustration. And did I mention the complete and utter uselessness that is my existence?

And the guilt? I should have gone with him that night. I should have been there to protect him. Maybe they could have taken me down on my own, like they took down Dean, but no way they couldn't have taken us both at the same time. I knew Dean was still hurt, and I knew how he rubbed people the wrong way sometimes. I've even seen him getting hit on a time or two by men, and while logically I know that there's no way that fact could have lead me to conclude that someone would want to rape him let alone could actually do it, I still feel like an idiot for not watching his back. So now I'm hyper vigilant, and I know it's driving him crazy to have me following him around everywhere he goes, or getting nervous when he's out of my sight for more than five minutes at a time (_Jesus, Samantha, can't I take a piss in private?_). I sit up at night sometimes and relive it all. Dean suddenly announcing he had to go out and bring home some bacon, driving around in a panic trying to find him when he was gone too long and wasn't answering his cell phone. Finding him in that fucking alley, broken, bleeding, half naked and damn near catatonic. The way he flinched when I got too close. The shame in his eyes when he realized it was me. Trying to find the source of the blood and realizing it wasn't just from his stitches… it was from his…

It makes me shake with anger to think about it. To know those sons of bitches are out there, roaming around free, while Dean is barely surviving. Dean's getting out of the shower now. I really don't want him to find out about this since I have no idea how he's going to react. Maybe I'll write more later.

_The End?_


	2. Broken

"Don't look at me, Sam. If you look, I swear to God I'll stop talkin'."

He'd just finished patching up a nasty gash on my arm, repeating "_sorry, Sammy_" over and over like a mantra. It wasn't the first time I'd ever been hurt on a hunt, but it was the first time it happened because of a mistake Dean made and he was taking it badly. He'd stared at my bandaged arm silently, his eyes wide and frightened and bright with unshed tears. I tried to reassure him, to make him realize that it was really no big deal. I can handle myself. He left me sitting in the bathroom, muttering something like I shouldn't have to pay for his mistakes.

I was sitting next to Dean on his bed, where I'd followed him and trying to figure out what in the hell I could say to get through to him when he made his pronouncement out of the blue. He was sitting hunched over near the head of the double bed, taking up as little space as possible and staring at his shoes, the total opposite of the way he used to be. The tone of his voice sent a tingle up my spine. I'd heard that tone far more then I'd have liked in the past year, only now it was… _more_. More broken, more unsure, more stripped bare. I nodded once, my jaw clinched so tight I don't know how I didn't crack a couple teeth. I waited for what seemed like forever for him to start, trying hard not to miss all the countless times that we would sit just like this, only our shoulders and knees brushing against each other in companionable silence. Dean would have laughed, called me a girl and then bumped my should gently with his own. I didn't know whether to laugh or sob at the image in my head of what he used to be. My heart ached at the realization that I was thinking of him in the past tense, and I pushed it quickly away even as I froze and stared straight in front of me, hoping that this was the moment I've been waiting for all this time. The moment he'd actually open up and talk to me. I began to wonder if he was ever going to say anything else when I finally heard his voice, a trace of bitterness running through it and barely loud enough to make out.

"I'll go… I'll go _days_ without thinking about it. I mean, it's still there like I'm fucking haunted or something. But I can usually manage to ignore it, not actually look at. Still hurts, still sucks major ass, but I keep thinking that if I can string enough of those days together it'll go away and I can get my life back." He took a shuddering breath and I saw his head shake slowly out of the corner of my eye. His fingers were trying to wring the life out of each other and I had to clinch mine together in an effort not to mirror the action. "Then I'll have a nightmare or a… a flashback and I'll be right back _there_, like it's happening all over again."

Flashbacks… I wondered if that's what happened to him tonight, why he froze in the middle of the hunt. Why he damn near came apart at the seams like a cheap suit afterwards. It had happened before, but never in a situation as dangerous as tonight. There was a short silence and from his breathing, I knew that he was either crying or trying his damndest not to. I wanted to look, wanted to hug him, but I knew that he'd stop talking just like he promised. I clutched my hands tightly together and forced myself to remain motionless. To just wait and let him do this in his own way.

"I feel… so… so fucking _dirty… _and_ used_… all the… all the damn time, Sam. No matter how much I scrub. I don't think I'll ever be clean again. I don't know how to even be _me_ anymore. I don't know how to be your big brother or Dad's son. I'm broken Sammy and I don't know how to fix myself. I'm starting to think it's just not possible. I've tried everything I can think of. Maybe I need what most haunted things need. Fucking salt and burn."

The utter sincerity in his voice twisted in my gut. I knew he'd come close to giving up before, that he probably thought of suicide, especially during those first few months. But to hear him actually say it… I closed my eyes briefly and reigned in my emotions. This couldn't be about me and my fear of losing him. This had to be about him. "You haven't tried everything, Dean. You haven't let me help you."

"What the hell do you think you could do, Sam?" God, he sounded so tired. So resigned to the idea that things would never get better for him. There was a deep ache in my chest and I'm sure it's people mean when they talk about their hearts breaking. I've felt it far too many times in my life, I reflected as I swallowed hard at the lump in my throat.

"It doesn't have to be me, but you need to talk about what happened to you to somebody, man. You can't just ignore it and hope it goes away. Life doesn't work like that. Everyday things happen to us that change us, and sometimes those things are horrible. Sometimes those things try to break us. But we can't just close our eyes and wish them away."

"That's a pretty speech and all, but this didn't happen to you!" His voice was an angry hiss, rough and raw, and gave me the sudden urge to pound something. If I knew where those bastards were that caused all this, I'd have killed them a long time ago. As far as I'm concerned, they're every bit as evil and inhuman as the things we hunt. Maybe more. Nothing we've ever hunted had been able to break Dean.

"Yeah, it did. You of all people should know that. If I have so much as a nightmare, you agonize over it. That's a two way street, man. You're my brother and I love you. How the hell could this not affect me?"

There was another silence and I waited… just waited. "You want me to tell you about it, don't you?" His voice was like a wire that was stretched too tightly and might snap at any moment and slightly accusatory.

"I think you need to tell _someone_," I repeated gently, careful not to become defensive.

"I never wanted you to know… how pathetic I am." His voice broke on the word 'pathetic' and he sniffled softly. "'S bad enough you know … it happened at all."

"Dean, you're not pathetic. You're the strongest person I know. The best person I know."

"I should have been able to stop it. I'm a fucking _hunter_, Sam. I kill things that are bigger and stronger than me all the damn time. And you're tellin' me that it's okay that I couldn't fight off some human bastards?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm tellin' you. Because I know you did everything you possibly could."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I know you."

The only sound in the room was Dean's labored breathing for a few long minutes as he slowly got himself back under control. "I won a lot of money that night," his voice was wistful when he finally spoke again. "It was the most fun I'd had hustling in a long time. The locals actually _wanted_ to be sharked, dude. Kept lining up to see who could best me. A couple really knew their way around a pool table and it got to be a competition. I even got to do some of my best trick shots. I had a nice little buzz going, feeling no pain, you know?" I could hear the smile in his voice. I wondered if it was real smile and it was all I could do not to look at him and check. The ache in my chest got deeper, sharper, as I realized how much I missed that shit eating grin of his.

"So I left with my wad of cash, thinking we could maybe splurge a little. I hear this scream coming from behind the bar, and scuffling. I go to see if someone needs help and there are these guys back there, biker types. Fugly bastards. They had one of the waitresses back there, pinned down. So of course I had to be the hero." I smiled to myself. Dean never could stand to watch people being picked on. Never mind that he was outnumbered and had no back up. "I managed to get her out, told her to run, but they… God Sam… why the fuck didn't I take a gun with me? The fucking car was right _there_."

I wanted to ask what happened to the damn waitress, why she didn't call for help, why she just ran and left him there to fend for himself. Maybe she didn't know exactly what would happen, but she had to know that one man against a group of bastards who tried to rape her couldn't lead to good things. Sometimes, I swear that the selfishness of people staggers me. When he spoke again his voice was cold and controlled, the only sign of his emotions a small tremor running through it.

"I couldn't… I couldn't fight them off. They said that I'd gotten rid of their entertainment, and that I'd have to do. That I was… I was _pretty_ enough." I felt the bed shift and used my peripheral vision to watch him slid up to the headboard and pull his knees under his chin.

"Dean," I said, my voice breaking. _I won't cry, damn it, I will not cry_, I repeated to myself over and over.

"I tried to stop them… I really tried. It just hurt so damn much and… after a while, I… I just closed my eyes and let them do what they wanted and prayed for it to be over. I gave up, Sam. So, you see, you're wrong. I didn't do everything I could have. I guess you don't know me as well as you think you do."

God, I knew what had happened. I knew it had to be more than one or two to take down my brother. I'd read so much about male rape on the internet that I could write a book and I couldn't stop my imagination from filling in the blanks at the worst possible moments, but hearing it from him like that? Hearing it still felt like a sucker punch. Left me breathless and aching. I wanted to say something profound, something brilliant. Something that would make everything alright again. I wanted to wave a magic wand and take away all Dean's guilt and pain. I even wondered if something like that existed somewhere. But there were no profound words, no magic wands.

"It's not too late to fight, Dean. We can fight together." Dean snorted out a bitter laugh through his tears. "No, we can! Look… I know that you won't be exactly who you were before. But I swear to you we can get to a point that everything's not so fucked up anymore."

"I don't know, Sammy." He sounded so tired and I couldn't help myself. I turned to face him. He had his forehead pressed against his knees and his arms wrapped around them, hiding his face. He looked so damned fragile. That had been one thing that Dean had never been before. I had the irrational thought that if I touched him, he'd just disintegrate, like an old book that had dry rotted.

"We do the impossible every day. We can do this. I know we can."

And, God, I hope I didn't lie to him because right now he's broken in so damn many places I'm not sure how the hell we're going to put him back together. But I have to believe that we can. I can't accept that the rest of Dean's life is going to be like this, that there's no way back from this for him. I sat on his bed for a long time, just watching him, my hand on his shoulder – one of the few times that he allowed any physical contact since he was attacked. He didn't stop crying until he finally fell asleep curled on his side, his back to me. He cried so quietly, his body not moving at all, I have to wonder how many times he'd cried himself to sleep and I'd never known.

As much as I hate my father's deep-seated belief that he's always right and willingness to bully everyone around until they fall into line, I actually wish he was around to help. It's awkward for Dean to accept comfort from me because in his mind, he should be the strong one. But he could accept it easier from Dad. I think he would feel safer with him around too. And, much as it pains me to admit, Dad does usually come up with the right thing to do. Why the hell did I promise that I wouldn't tell? I'm pretty sure that forbidding the youngest to snitch to the parents was like a violation of civil rights or something.

It's late and I should probably try to get some sleep too. I have no idea what kind of mood Dean will be in when he wakes up and I really want to try to be awake before he is. I want to believe he'll be better, that sharing some of his burden with me while make it lighter. But we're Winchesters. We don't usually get lucky.

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews, Lost Dreamer, vana naine, mlaspike & EtainAingeal! I hope that you enjoy this update as much as you did the first chapter. And for those of you reading this who also read Phoenix Rising, I'm basically finished with the last chapter… but I have to go to work so it won't be up until sometime tonight. My Cruel Intentions fic, Twelve Years, is finally getting it's _long_ overdue update this weekend._

_-Angie_


	3. Fix

Fix

Six seconds. That's how long it took me to go from being so happy to see Dad in our room that I wanted to kiss him to wanting to strangle him with my bare hands. And really, that had to be some sort of record. Dean and I had just returned from a bar. It was the first time that he'd gone to one since the rape (it it just never gets easier for me to say or write that word no matter how many times I make myself) and it felt like a milestone. He hadn't flirted or even really met anyone's eye the whole time, but he'd sat there for over an hour and a half and even had two beers. So progress.

The credit card scams weren't quite enough to keep us afloat and it had taken us about eleven months to run through all the cushion that I'd managed to squirrel away while I was at Stanford and the money from the ring I'd bought Jess. Much as I would have liked to keep the ring, it really wasn't doing me much good, and I am likely never going back to school so I really didn't need the money I had been saving. I hadn't told Dean where I'd gotten the cash, and he hadn't asked. We didn't talk about much anymore. At least not much that meant anything.

For the past two months since the money ran out I've been doing all the hustling, which I'm better at then I would have ever dreamed. For some reason people insist on seeing me as some wide eyed innocent kid despite the fact that I'm well over six feet tall and more than two hundred pounds of solid muscle. It's just one of those things that I'll likely never have an explanation for or outgrow. As it turned out there was another side benefit to this besides being incredibly annoying when I want to be taken seriously and incredibly useful when I'm trying to get information. It's also highly effective at convincing people that I was a novice at playing pool and making them think that my winning in the end was just dumb luck. Unlike Dean's cocky smirk that occasionally made people want to take out their frustration over losing on his face. Did I mention how much I miss that damn smirk?

Dean was understandably nervous about me going to bars to hustle. I'd had promise to be back before it got dark, take my gun inside with me, make sure I didn't drink too much and avoid any secluded areas. I knew that if he so much as thought I might break any of these promises, he'd be there in a heartbeat, gut wrenching fear or no gut wrenching fear so I gladly went along. While I was out he'd call me every twenty to thirty minutes and freak out if I didn't answer. People just assumed I had a jealous girlfriend somewhere. Actually it was more like an unbelievably paranoid mother. I got into the habit of calling him the minute I left a bar and talking to him until he could hear the Impala rumbling into the parking lot. Of course he never actually admitted that he was worried. No, not Dean. He was just bored, or wanted me to pick something up on the way back, or needed to know if I remembered the name of a movie or an actor before it drove him crazy, or wondered if I remembered a scene from a movie he was watching. Yeah. Not worried one bit.

When he insisted on going with me tonight it was all I could do to keep myself from going into what Dean once called my eager puppy mode (yes, I know I do this when I get especially excited, and I hate myself every time). Of course, this could have ended up being a step backwards. Especially if there had been any bikers at the bar. Or if a man had hit on him. Thankfully, the most exciting thing that happened was a group of college girls staring at him and giggling. He tried to act as if he didn't notice, but I saw the slight smirk curling one side of his face. It was good to have his ego stroked a little. Maybe eventually he'd be able to look one of them in the eye. My brother's libido used to be so overactive that I'm starting to wonder if he isn't going to explode at some point. It's been over a year. Not even I've ever gone that long. Now it seemed as if our roles were reversed and I was the one too worried about how much sex my brother was getting. Or not getting, as the case may be.

We arrived back at the hotel to see our father inside our room sitting on the bed closest to the door. It wasn't a big deal for him to pick the lock and wait for us, so that wasn't a problem. In fact, I was so happy to see him that I didn't stop to wonder why I hadn't noticed the truck. It wasn't like either Dean or I to not notice something like that.

But just as I was getting over the shock of seeing him and really warming up to the happiness, what happens? I see it. My journal, in his hands. The son of a bitch had gone through my things, found the journal and read it (which is why I'm writing this on my computer now, in a hidden directory and password protected). My happiness quickly changed to shock, then to offense, then to wondering if patricide was really all that bad. Cause I honestly wanted to kill the man.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded before I could stop myself, my voice a high pitched squeak. Cause, you know, nothing says I'm really pissed off right now like _squeaking_. I could feel Dean surprise and knew that he was giving me that familiar sidelong glance. But I refused to look at him, already feeling guilt eating away at my gut.

"You should have told me as soon as it happened, Sammy." Dad didn't even acknowledge my tone, or anger. He looked… well, fuck. If Dad breaks too, who the hell's gonna fix us? Didn't he realize that was _his_ job? That he was supposed to come along, somehow figure out what happened last year and fix us? Before I could force my panicking brain to come up with a response, Dad turned his attention to Dean. I couldn't read Dad's expression, but if he kept looking at Dean like that he was going the figure it out.

"What the hell are the two of you talking about," Dean finally asked, his tone tight. I chanced a glance at him. His eyes were wide and shiny, looking impossibly green. He knew. Of course he knew. Because the rape was the first thing he always thought about, the only lens that he saw the world through for the past year. This time he just happened to be right on the money.

"I'm sorry." The words were out of my mouth before I even realized that I was thinking them.

"Fuck, Sammy. You promised." His voice was soft, but I could clearly hear the betrayal in his tone.

"He didn't tell me, kiddo," Dad said softly. "I read it in his journal."

"You wrote about it?" His voice was louder now and I could hear the panic rising. His breathing was too fast, too shallow. He was going to have a panic attack.

"Calm down, man," I said, holding out my hands in an attempt to calm him. "Just breathe."

He made a sound that was something between a moan and a chocked sob before taking off for the bathroom. The door slammed and I could hear him vomiting.

"Why didn't you call me," Dad was asking in a hoarse whisper, his eyes on the closed door of the bathroom.

I was angry again, because he hadn't made anything better. If anything it was worse. "Like it would have done any good. You didn't seem to care too much when Dean was dying. Why should you care when he was just broken?"

Dad looked at me then and for a second I thought he was going to hit me. "I couldn't come then. I would have put you both in danger."

I snorted in disbelief. I never did know when to leave well enough alone. "Yeah, and picking up a phone and calling to speak to your dying son would have been so risky."

"Everything I do," his voice was raw and shaking with anger and filled with something that sounded like pain as he stood up and got right in my face, "every _fucking thing_ I have _ever_ done almost since the day your mother died has been for the sole purpose of keeping you and your brother safe." He paused and visibly calmed himself. "I know what you think of me. That the only thing I care about is revenge. That you and your brother are nothing but tools to me. But if it had only been about Mary, I would have just crawled inside a bottle a long time ago and never come out. Or died years ago doing something damn foolish. The only things in this world I give a good goddamn about are you and Dean. So you should have told me about this, Sam."

He didn't wait for a reply – and really, what the hell could I say to that? He just crossed the room to the now quiet bathroom and knocked softly on the door. "Can I come in?" There was no answer. I found myself moving silently to stand behind him. "I'm not going to come in unless you let me in. And I'm not going to order you. Please, Dean? Son?"

After a long few seconds of silence the door opened. Just a crack. Dad pushed it open wider and stepped inside. Dean was sitting on the floor, knees up to his chin, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, looking down at the floor. Dad slid down to the floor next to him and put an arm around his trembling shoulders.

"I'm sorry." Dean's voice was soft and had that tone I'd become far too familiar with, that made my heart ache.

"For what?" Dad's voice was soft too, gentle in a way that I hadn't heard since I was a small child. "You did nothing wrong."

"But I should have been stronger, I shouldn't have let it happen."

"You didn't let anything happen. You did nothing wrong." Dad pulled him closer and Dean just collapsed against him so that he was laying across his lap, his head cradled in the crook of Dad's elbow. Dad held him tightly as if he were afraid that Dean would slip away if he didn't. "I've never lied to you. Maybe I don't tell you everything, but I've never lied. You did nothing wrong. I'm proud of you. I've always been proud of you and what those bastards did to you doesn't change a damn thing about how I feel."

Dean started to cry then, deep sobs that shook his whole body. Dad looked up at me, tears in his eyes and motioned for me to join them. I sat next to him and laid my head on his shoulder, my hand in Dean's hair.

I had to smile to myself at the sight we must have made. Three full grown hunters, all over six feet tall, curled up on the floor of a tiny bathroom in a fleabag motel, sobbing. Yeah. That was real manly. Hopefully nothing evil could see us then, because it would have just completely ruined the entire Winchester badass reputation. The upside, though, was that maybe Dad _could_ fix us after all.

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_A/N: Thank you to everyone who is following this story. I am going to probably write one more chapter for this. If you haven't reviewed yet, please let me know what you think! And I'd be happy to hear from those who already have to see what they think of where I went with this. I'm not a John hater, so I hope John being a big fat jerk wasn't what any of you were hoping for. Thanks to all my readers!_

_I love John, so I couldn't just leave him out of the mix deangirl1. Hope you like how he effects the dynamic._

_Glad you like it **cHoCoLaTe-cHiHuAhUa**! Hope you're still enjoying it!_

_I know, **DeanBeanWinchester**... poor Dean... poor Sammy too._

_I'm glad you like the story, **riquitv**. Hope this lives up to your expectations..._

_Your wish is my command, **greendaypumpkin**... John's on the job._

_Thanks **WettX** and **Ghostwriter**!_

_-Angie_


	4. Faith

**Faith**

"You were right Sam."

I was so shocked to hear those three words out of my father's mouth that I would have started reciting an exorcism right then and there if I hadn't witnessed him cross the salt line this morning to get breakfast and then again when he came back. Are there demons that can cross a salt line? Shapeshifter maybe? Where exactly _was_ my silver knife?

"Oh, stop looking at me like that Sammy. I can admit when I'm wrong. It just happens so infrequently that you can't remember." I refused to feel all warm and gooey about the open affection in his tone and expression. Instead, I rolled my eyes at his smirk and he sobered. "I couldn't come, but I should have called when Dean was sick. I started to a thousand times. I just didn't know how the hell I was supposed to make a phone call like that. What the hell do you say? 'So I hear you're dying son. Sorry I can't make it. I'll miss you.' How utterly fucked is that? I just kept remembering the day he was born, when they put him in my arms. He was so tiny and perfect… A father's not supposed to outlive his children, Sammy. I've been through a lot of shit in my life, but I don't think I could survive either of you dying. I was supposed to protect him, both of you. Die doing it if I had to. And I failed. I just couldn't bring myself to face up to that. So there you have it. You were right and I was a bastard and a coward."

And just like that I understood. I didn't want to. I wanted to be able to hold that against him for the next thirty years. It was proof that he really didn't give a damn, that I wasn't so wrong in leaving the way I did. But really it was because he cared too much. He couldn't deal. It was wrong and fucked up, but it wasn't malicious or a sign that he was too obsessed with the hunt to care. He was just… scared. As much as I hated to admit it, I could relate. It was the same reason that I never called when I left. I was terrified that one of them would be dead. The not knowing was horrible, the separation was like having a limb or two amputated, but the idea of knowing for sure that one or both of them was gone forever was somehow worse in my mind. I smirked. Dean always said that Dad and I were alike.

"You're not a coward, Dad. You're just human. I remember… I remember when you'd go out hunting alone and you'd come back all fucked up sometimes. Dean and I would have to patch you up and one day I finally really understood that you weren't a superhero, that you might really die, it got to the point that I was terrified that you just wouldn't come back one day. We'd never find out what exactly happened to you. You'd just be gone, like you never even fucking existed. It's one of the reasons that I decided to leave. It was killing me. That and Dean… God, I was so afraid that Dean would get himself killed protecting me. That's what all my nightmares were about. All the bloody, painful ways the two of you could die."

Dad snorted and smiled humorlessly.

"What?"

"It just never occurred to me that you'd be afraid that I'd die. I was so focused on not losing you that I didn't even consider that you'd be worried about losing me. What a pair we make."

It wasn't like my father to be this open. Not that I hadn't wished for it a thousand times. Was it what happened to Dean that was making him all warm and paternal? Somehow I doubted it. Not that finding out your oldest son had been raped wouldn't change your behavior, but John Winchester always had an end goal in mind for everything he ever did. That's just who he was and I doubted anything would ever change that, ever really break that iron control he kept himself under for more than a few moments at a time. "Dad, not that I don't appreciate it, but where's this little heart to heart coming from?"

He smiled wryly. "I need you to understand what I'm going to do." He was studying my face, his stare so intense that I wondered for half a second if he could read my thoughts.

Great. I didn't like this plan already. My gaze flickered protectively towards the closed door of the bathroom where Dean was taking one of his ridiculously long showers. If Dad was going to just take off now, so help me God I really _was_ going to kill him. Of course I'd have to hide the body before Dean saw it. The upside was it would take at least six months before Dean suspected anything. "Which would be?"

"I'm taking Dean with me on a hunt. It's dangerous, and I need you to put up your usual fight, but you have to curb that tongue of yours. None of that good little soldier bullshit you like to throw around. No belittling your brother because he actually trusts me."

"What the hell? Hasn't he been through enough? Now you're going to risk his life?" Okay, so him taking off wouldn't have been the worst thing he could do. This was. Dragging his already traumatized son into the middle of his insane mission. Not obsessed with revenge my ass.

"That's just the thing. I told your brother that I don't see him any differently, but he's not going to completely accept that until I prove it. I can only prove it by taking him with me and letting him watch my back. He needs to know that I still trust him with my life. The last thing I can do is coddle him. That would just break him for good. I stayed up all night trying to think of what to do and that's the best I could come up with. If you got any better ideas I'm all ears."

That last sentence cut me off at the knees. Because, really, I didn't have any better ideas. I didn't have any ideas at all. I knew that Dean had to learn to trust himself again and that probably the only way for him to do that was to know that Dad still trusted him. I was his kid brother and I was _supposed_ to trust him. In Dean's mind, that was like a natural law or something so me still believing in him didn't really count. But Dad's trust wasn't easy to come by or hold on to. If Dad could show Dean that he could still count on him in a tight spot, that would go a long way to rebuilding my brother's shattered self-confidence. I looked away and folded my arms, trying to keep myself from flying apart at the seams. It was bad enough that Dad was out there doing God only knew what stupid reckless things to try to run that Yellow Eyed bastard to ground, but now he wanted to take Dean with him. That means my whole damn family would be out there in danger and there was nothing I could do to even try to keep them safe. "I don't. But that doesn't mean I have to like yours."

"You wanted me here to help, Sammy. This is me here helping."

"Reminding me that you violated my privacy last night isn't helping with the trust factor here, Dad."

"Dean's the best hunter I've ever seen." Dad snorted, that look of pride shining in his eyes that I had always been so jealous of. "Damn sure better than me. He can handle himself. If I can just get him to believe that again… if I can just repair some of the damage those sick fucks did to his self-confidence, he can finish mending. There'll still be a long way to go before he's himself again. There aren't any magic cures for something like this. It's going to take time and patience. You've done a really good job so far."

I turned my head to look at him so quickly I swear I have a mild case of whiplash. Was that actually approval? "Thanks, Dad."

"Except for the whole not calling me part."

I snorted in amusement. "Do you always have to ruin the moment?" Dad laughed and I enjoyed the sound of it rumbling up from his chest. Dad didn't laugh often. "He needs you too, Dad."

"And I need the two of you safe."

"Which means you're going to leave again soon." He was silent, neither confirming or denying, which was the same as a confirmation. "Hunting evil supernatural creatures isn't exactly a low risk occupation."

"There's evil and then there's evil."

I closed my eyes a took a calming breath. I'd forgotten how good Dad was with the cryptic. "What the hell are we supposed to do if something happens to you?"

The look that flickered through his eyes made my blood run cold. He was expecting to die. My legs went week and I barely made it to one of the cheap chairs before they gave out on me. Dad dragged the other chair around the table and sat down in front of me. "Sammy, control your breathing son. You're gonna pass out."

Was that wheezing me? I forced my breathing to slow and deepen, until it mimicked Dad's. The lightheadedness slowly disappeared and I became aware that Dad was petting me. One hand on my cheek, the other in my hair, smoothing it out. "Good boy."

"Dad, you can't… God, Dad."

Sammy, you and Dean will have each other. You'll be okay."

"We can help you. It won't be so dangerous with the three of us together."

"No! I won't have you anywhere near that bastard."

"But, Dad-" Dean chose that moment to emerge from the shower, before I had the chance to remind him that this was our fight too. It was our mother that was murdered. My girlfriend. My brother really did have the world's worst timing.

"What ? Who died?"

And that was just too much. I practically ran out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind me. Dean was broken – mending yes, but still broken – and my father was on some crazy suicide mission. What the fuck was going to happen to Dean when Dad got himself killed? For that matter, what was going to happen to me? I slumped against the cold bricks of the motel for what seemed like an eternity before I felt a warm hand on my neck.

"Son-"

"I just… make sure that both of you come back safe."

He squeezed gently. "I will."

I hugged him then. He hesitated briefly before returning it. Winchesters weren't big on hugging. "Just promise me that you'll try to come up with a way to finish this that doesn't include you dying?"

He sighed. "I'll try." He pulled away. "I have to go pick up some supplies. I'll be back in about an hour."

Translation: I'm giving you time to go talk to your brother… make sure you behave.

I nodded and returned to the hotel room. I found Dean packing, his back to the door.

"Go ahead an' say it," he said without turning around.

"Say what?"

He glanced at me for a second before he zipped up his bag. "That 'm nothing but Dad's good little soldier, that 'm just following him blindly. I know you're dyin' to."

And fuck, that look in his eyes right then? The way he avoided looking directly at me… the rape didn't do that. _I_ did that. Maybe the rape had made it easier to see, but that was all me. I felt sick. How many times had I belittled Dean since we'd been back on the road together? Implied he was stupid, laughed at his homemade equipment, treated him as if everything wrong in my life was his fault, acted like I was better than him? All because I was hurting and Dean could take it, right? Dean was tough. He'd never break. Dad had seen it, what all that had done to him. "I'm an asshole."

"What?"

"I said I'm an asshole. There's nothing wrong with you, Dean. I'm the one who said to hell with the rest of the world as long as I could live in my safe little bubble."

"Don't say that Sam. You just wanted something for yourself. Wanted a better life."

"Yeah. I wanted to become a lawyer while someone _else_ stopped all the child-eating clowns and the shapeshifters who framed innocent people for murder and homicidal ghost trucks. Yeah, I'm real fucking noble. Besides Jess, how many other innocent people do you suppose died because I was a selfish bastard?"

"Sammy, come on! That wasn't your fault!" Typical Dean. I beat up on him and he just swallows it until he can't anymore and gets angry. I beat up on myself and he's instantly defending me.

"Dean, this isn't a guilt trip. The truth is that if I hadn't left, if I hadn't tried to pretend that I could just walk away and all that evil would just let me go she would still be alive. Knowing what I knew, and I didn't even have any protection sigils up? Didn't teach Jess what to look out for? That's just fucking negligent, Dean and don't make excuses for me."

"You don't know that she'd still be alive." And really that was all he could say because I was right and we both knew it.

"Maybe not, but I'm reasonably sure that Yellow Eyes would have much given a damn about her if it weren't for me. But you… you're the most selfless person I know. Your whole life is about saving innocent people."

He snorted as he sat on the bed next to his duffle. "I am so not selfless. Just ask the tail of women I left all over the damn country."

"Dean, they weren't expecting marriage and a white picket fence. They got what they wanted too. You didn't take advantage of anybody."

He shrugged. "Yeah, maybe."

Dean insisted that I go to Bobby's until they were finished and I wasn't in the mood to argue. Probably a first in a long time for me that being treated like I was still six didn't make me want to argue. So that's where I am tonight, four hours later. Bobby asked if I wasn't too long in the tooth to need babysitting. I just smiled and said that I loved him too. Thankfully he dropped the subject. So now I wait and hope that my faith in Dad isn't misplaced.

_

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A/N: Wow! I got a lot of reviews. I'm glad so many of you liked my take on John! I have a John centric fic you might like too,

Being John Winchester_. Check it out if you get the chance. I intended this to be the last chapter, but the way it came out it seems to be evolving into something that could last a while. Let me know if you want me to keep going or just resolve the main plot. Of course, the main focus will still be what happened to Dean and how that affects everything and vice versa. If you want me to keep going, I'll probably try a different POV._

_Thank you so much, __**VindictiveMuse, standabvthcrwd1, Zerestor, supernaturaldh, DeanBean, Yammy1983, riquity, greendaypumpkin, cHoCoLaTe-cHiHuAhUa & deangirl1**__! I keep making myself cry so I'm glad I'm not the only one._

_-Angie_


	5. Pain

**Pain**

"What's this, Dad?" Dean pulled a glass jug of clear liquid out of one of the boxes in the bed of my truck. We'd just pulled up to a hotel with the intention of checking our weapons, going over our plans for the hunt and getting some shut eye before heading out at nightfall.

"Hooch. You can try it if you want."

He pulled the cork out of the jug and gave it an experimental sniff, looking like he wasn't sure if he should trust my tone – and really he shouldn't have… how long has the kid known me anyway? I watched as he took an experimental sip, and nearly spit it out. He grimaced as he forced himself to swallow. "Hate to tell you this, but I think it went bad. Really, horribly bad." His voice was rough from the burn of the alcohol and his tone slightly accusatory. Okay so I deserved a little accusation, but why did the boy think it was in the bed of my truck? Like I would really keep good alcohol with my tools. But then, he would try anything at least once. I used to tease him that they should have named that little kid in the commercials that would eat anything Dean.

I laughed. "I saved this guy in Tennessee a few months back. I think he made it in his bathtub."

"I hope you told the son of a bitch to wash it out first next time. Shit tastes like ass."

"Supposed to taste like ass, son. I think that's part of its charm. They call it rotgut for a reason. I think they sacrifice all the taste in favor of alcoholic content."

"If you say so," he muttered, sounding totally unconvinced. "Why the hell are you keepin' it?"

"Figure it'll be good for a Molotov cocktail or five if the need ever arose." I smiled, happy to be alone with oldest like this again. Not that I didn't miss Sam. He was still my baby boy and damn if that didn't give him a soft spot in my heart no matter how difficult he was once he hit his teens or how much I'd tried to resist, but I'd gotten used to big empty spot his absence left behind. Dean had never really been away from me for this long and he was my son in ways that Sammy never had been. I suppose that it was also true that Sam was my son in ways that Dean never had been too. With Sam, though, it was always a battle, every conversation a wrong word or bad phrase away from being a confrontation and every confrontation, one smart remark away from me knocking him flat on his ass or him storming out, maybe for good. It was like trying to navigate a minefield and having no idea how to figure out where most of the mines where until you blew yourself half to kingdom come. Dean was just easier to be around, to relax with. In many ways he'd become a friend as well as a son. There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere that pulled me back to the present. I glanced over at Dean. His entire body was rigid and he was biting at his lip as he stared sightlessly down into the bed of my truck. I'd been reading his body language since the day he was born and I knew he wanted to talk but he didn't know how to start, wasn't sure he _could_ start. I didn't need three guesses to figure out what he wanted to talk about.

"It's okay son," I said gently. "We got all day."

"What about the hunt?"

"Hunt's not goin' anywhere." I wanted to say that I wasn't goin' anywhere either, but that wasn't true and I had sworn to myself a long time ago to only tell my boys the truth, or at least as much of it as I could bring myself to. It wasn't right, wasn't fair that I had to choose between making sure my sons were whole and making sure they lived. I shoved that line of thought down and put a lid on it. Bitching about it wasn't going to change a damn thing.

"I… I never wanted you to find out what happened. Thought you'd be ashamed o' me."

I huffed softly. "That would be impossible, Dean-o."

"I stopped fighting," he said as if it were enough reason for me to take it back and reject him, jaw quivering the way it did whenever he was trying to control strong emotion. "I just… I just lay there and took it. They wouldn't stop and the more I fought the worse it hurt. There were just too damn many of 'em… they held me… they held me down and… and…" His breath hitched and I put a hand on his arm. "I wasn't strong enough."

I wanted to close my eyes, to tell him to stop talking about it. Hearing his pain like that hurt more than I thought anything could hurt me anymore. But I kept tight control of my own emotions, ignored the twisting of my stomach. The idea of my son being held down and brutalized, being _raped_, was pushing the limits of every coping mechanism that I had. I wanted desperately to move right down the line to avoidance, but I couldn't go there. Dean needed me to face this with him, needed me to be strong for him. I could usually rise to the occasion of my boys' needs, even if I had to ignore everything else including whatever they _thought_ they needed. I firmly told myself that this would be no exception.

"You were strong enough to survive and there's no shame in that," I said, my voice filled with as much conviction as I could cram into it as I moved my hand to his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. I don't think that I could have ever made him understand just how glad I am that he did, 'cause I don't think I could live in a world without him in it.

"It never woulda happened to you."

"That what you think?" He nodded his head, but still wouldn't look at me. "Well, you're wrong. You're a better hunter then me, kid. If it happened to you, I wouldn't have stood a snowball's chance in hell."

He looked at me then, disbelief coloring his features. "Nobody's a better hunter then you, Dad."

I laughed at the utter sincerity in his tone. Sometimes Dean seemed so innocent despite everything that it made my heart ache. He had no idea how good he was, and that was my fault. I never wanted him to get too cocky, too comfortable with his own abilities. That's how a hunter got sloppy and a sloppy hunter was a dead hunter. "The hero worship's flattering an' all, but that's just a pile of horseshit. I'm good. I'm damn good. But you're better."

"So you're sayin' it was hopeless?"

"I'm sayin' that sometimes no matter how strong or capable you are you can still get knocked flat on your ass and the only thing you can do _is_ take it and figure a way to get back up and dust yourself off later."

"How? How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"I can't even pretend to know what you're feelin' or what you went through. But I do know that what happened to you wasn't your fault. It was all on the bastards who attacked you. You didn't provoke it, and you damn sure didn't deserve it. It doesn't change a damn thing about who you are. If this job teaches you anything it's that life is cruel and unfair. If it weren't, nothing bad would ever happen to you. I never met anyone who deserved it less."

He snorted. "I'm not so sure about that. I… sometimes I think I'm not that different then the things we hunt. Maybe what happened to me… maybe it was karma or something."

I was genuinely speechless for a moment. Where the hell did he get an idea like that? How the hell did he figure he was like some evil bastard that gets its jollies from rippin' people's lives apart? I'm the first to admit that we've done things that that nobody should ever have to do, made decisions that nobody should ever have to make, but it's always been to save someone else or protect each other. "The only person I ever knew with a heart as big as yours was your mother. Doin' the right thing even when it ain't pretty doesn't make you an evil man, son."

I forced myself to stop there, to avoid the rant that I could feel on the tip of my tongue. I felt instinctively that was the wrong approach to take. He might clam up if I kept going and Sam was right. The kid needed to talk to someone. I didn't want to hear it, but what I wanted didn't amount to a hill of beans right now. If it meant that Dean could just be alright again, I would just have to find some way to deal with it.

We carried the bags into our hotel room and began cleaning our weapons, still in silence. I knew hounding him to talk wouldn't work with Dean, and I had enough patience to wait him out. He wanted to talk, _needed_ to tell his story and I was determined to wait until he gathered enough courage to do it.

He cleared his throat but I didn't look up at him. He knew me well enough to know that I was listening and I knew him well enough to know that looking at him would just make what he needed to say harder.

"I don't think I'm strong enough to get back up, Dad." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I can't stop remembering. No matter what I do. I'm so tired of the dreams and the flashbacks. I'm tired of standing at a fucking gas station and suddenly feeling their hands all over me, feeling them…" He stopped and closed his eyes as he forced his breathing to slow. "I swear to you that I don't know how I got through those first few months. It's like… it's like I have two different lives. The one before and the one after with this… with this big _void_ in between. Sometimes what my life was like back then, what I was like back then is like a movie that I saw a long time ago and can barely remember. It took me months just to stop flinching whenever Sam came near me. For God's sake Dad, _Sam_."

Not for the first time, I swore to myself that I'd find the sons of bitches who did this to my son. One way or another, I would make sure that they got my own personal brand of justice. I'd never killed anyone for any reason other than self-defense or the defense of others, but there was a first time for everything. This time it was me who cleared my throat into the uncomfortable silence. Dean was done, had said his piece for now and I doubted that he would be forthcoming with anything else today. "Son, you remember when I explained to you about post traumatic stress disorder?"

"Yeah. Are you're sayin' that's what's wrong with me?"

"I'm pretty sure. There's no shame in it. I had it after your mother died. That's why I drank. I couldn't sleep unless I was passed out. I could barely make it through a few hours without seein' her up on that damn ceiling. I would break out into sweats because I could actually _feel_ the heat from the fire. There were times when I thought about giving you and Sam up because I just wasn't fit for a long while. But you were already too attached to Sammy, and they would have split you up. And I wasn't sure that the demon wasn't after one of you. The only thing that I could think of to keep him away was to keep moving and I was afraid that if I gave you boys up, you'd be sitting targets. Of course, there's also the fact that I can be a selfish bastard when I'm of the mind to and I just couldn't let either of you go. You were all I had left and…" I cleared my throat again. "So I learned what I could to protect you, and I pulled my ass together. It took time and there was a very long stretch when I thought it would never happen. Then one day I realized that I was laughing again. Really laughing. Some silly thing Sammy did and it didn't feel… wrong the way it used to. I didn't feel like I was outside my body anymore. The nightmares never completely went away, but I could usually sleep through the night without self medicating. I wasn't the same guy I was before, but I wasn't a complete wreck anymore either and I could make a decision without feeling like I all I wanted to do was scream or fall apart or just pound on something until either I it or it broke me."

He let out an exhale that was somewhere between a laugh and breathless sob. "That's how I feel sometimes. Like I just need t o hit something or someone as hard and as long as I can until…"

"Until it stops hurting. But it never works." I paused, waiting for him to shake his head, confirming what I already knew. "That's 'cause the anger isn't the problem. Being angry is just easier. It's the reason you're pissed off that you have to get out, otherwise it'll get worse."

"Worse?"

"You might start taking it out on Sammy. The boy'd probably let you too."

"I'd never… I could never hurt Sam." His voice sounded raw, like the very idea cause him pain, and it probably did.

"You never had the urge back when he was after you to talk? It never even crosses your mind when you had nothin' to hunt, nothin' else to take it out on?"

He turned away. "I never hit him."

"But you can't guarantee that you won't. If you're hurtin' enough, you don't know what you'd do. I got to the point that I was terrified that I'd hurt one o' you. I found someone… I found someone I could call. Whenever I just felt like the walls were closing in on me and thought something bad might happen."

He looked at me again. "You never touched us. There was the occasional spanking, but we earned those."

I snorted. "You did. But the point is, that there's no telling what I would have done if I didn't have an outlet for all the shit that was fuelin' my anger." I sighed. I didn't like talking about my emotions any more then Dean did. "I was in a lot of pain, and I felt helpless. Like everything was out of my control. And then there was the fear that it would happen again, that I'd lose you and Sam. It put me under so much pressure to try to get everything right, and I transferred that pressure to you." I was quiet for a moment, trying to screw up my courage to say everything that I needed to say. "I'm afraid that now every time you fail you think that I won't love you anymore, that I won't understand. That's not true son. That could never be true."

His jaw was trembling and he had to clear his throat before speaking again. "Maybe we should crash now… we can still get enough shut eye to hunt tonight."

I wasn't surprised that he changed the subject. Neither of us had very high tolerances for what he liked to call chick flick moments. "Yeah, sounds like a plan."

We put away our weapons and double checked the room, making sure it was secure. Not a very hard job considering that there was only one exit and two windows. Silently, I got into bed with him, hoping that my presence would keep the nightmares at bay like they had the night before.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, son?"

"I love you too."

Dean drifted right off, but it took me a while to fall asleep. I was used to doing things all or nothing, but this was huge. If Dean froze, if anything happened to me. If… if… if… I finally drifted off thinking about how that one small word could drive a man crazy.

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A/N: I'm so happy that all of you wanted to read more of this. It just didn't feel right to leave it yet. Dean – the entire family – still needs more time to heal.

_You're welcome, riquitv!_

_Hey deangirl1, happy you're still loving John. I always understood a little bit of where Sam was coming from as a fellow youngest sibling, but I also thought that sometimes he goes way too far and comes off looking like, well, an asshole._

_I wanted to get to the hunt, yammy1983, but John and Dean had other ideas so it's going to have to wait until next chapter._

_I know, DeanBeanWinchester. They're all going through hell right now._

_More Dean just as requested, greendaypumpkin. How you enjoyed._

_I'm so happy to hear that you want more, stndabvthcrwd1, and I hope you enjoy my other stuff too._

_Hi Ashley, so glad you're enjoying this story. I hope you continue to._

_-Angie_


	6. Plan

**Plan**

Dean had been a cute little boy. Then he hit puberty and I started hearing people describe him as beautiful or, far worse, pretty. Now, as cute as he had been, no one had ever called him those things before. Not as a baby or as a toddler. It had been Sammy that people referred to as a beautiful baby, with his big hazel eyes, curly brown hair and open dimpled smile. He'd gotten all the attention. Right up until… yeah, you guessed it, right up until Dean hit puberty. It didn't help that he was graceful in a way that few boys were thanks to his training and his natural awareness of his own body and strength, that his fingers were thin and almost delicate looking despite their size.

That's when I realized that there was a very good secondary reason to make sure that he could handle himself. I sometimes found men leering at him. The kid was definitely heterosexual, there wasn't much doubt about that by the time I started noticing the attention he was drawing, but that didn't mean that some sick fuck wouldn't still try something with him. Things like that happened every day. A rapist rarely cared about the sexual preference of his victim. Dean really didn't look like he could take down someone or something three times his size. For all those sick bastards knew, he was just some pretty teenage boy with a cocky attitude. So I watched him, drilled into his head the necessity to watch his surroundings and never, ever, give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Never leave a drink unattended, never take an open one from a stranger, never let himself be alone and cornered.

As he'd gotten older and stronger, I began to allow myself to believe that the danger had passed. Not much got by him, and he was a fierce fighter. By the time he was attacked, I had almost completely forgotten my fears. How many kinds of stupid does that make me? But I don't blame myself. Well, not much. Blaming myself for my boys' problems is sort of my default position. I'm not sure if it's a father thing or just another way for me to beat up on myself during my not-rare-enough moments of introspection.

I didn't blame him for not continuing to completely heed my warnings. Not that he wasn't still hyper alert to the point of near paranoia, but it was just in the boy's nature to not fear danger for long. It was a big part of what made him so damn good and I wouldn't change that about him for the world. And he was heading off into a situation to save someone else. How could I blame him for simply doing the things that I had always been most proud of him for? Even now, broken and angry he was still trying to save others, still trying to ignore his own pain and fear to do what needed doing. I know he thinks that I'm a hero, but it's him. _He's_ the hero. Has been since he was four years old. Heroes never deserve to become victims.

No… I blame the bastards who did this to my boy. And I wasn't about to let that stand. Once this hunt was over, I would take a brief hiatus from tracking down Yellow Eyes and start a new hunt. This would be trickier, harder to cover my tracks with 'human' pray. But I don't really consider their tenuous claims to humanity anything other than a complicating technicality.

"Dad?" Dean's soft voice cut through my thoughts. I had been laying in bed, my eyes closed, for about an hour and a half after waking from a short fitful sleep.

I inhaled deeply though my nose before answering. He always did know when I wasn't really asleep. "Yes, son?"

"You okay?"

Cracking my eyes open, I took a quick measure of his mood. There was something vulnerable about him now, like he'd been broken open and couldn't quite figure out how to get the pieces to fit back together right. I cursed myself for not knowing sooner. But I had known, maybe not the details, but I'd known that _something_ was wrong. That's why I'd gone through their things, trying to find some clue about what was wrong with my boys. What it was that they were hiding from me. I could have asked, but they'd been saying that they were fine and nothing was wrong for months. They were wearing themselves out and some of the reports I was hearing about them through the grapevine were just fucking disturbing. Not that I minded them being feared in the hunting community that I'd taken great pains to keep them separated from or in the supernatural world. In fact I was damn proud that they were, but they were taking excessive to a whole new level."'M fine. Just hashin' some things out."

He grunted as he sat up and stretched, bones popping into place. "What're we huntin'?"

I paused and pursed my lips. "Demons."

He stopped and peered at me. I knew he was shocked… other than a few routine exorcisms of some very low level demons, I'd never let him help me hunt one before, had always gone out of my way to make sure he never ran into any when we were hunting separately. It wasn't just that they were hard bastards to hunt – which is probably what he thought was the only reason – but more because they loved running off at the mouth. If the boys went after a demon and it was even money that they'd walk away with knowledge that I really didn't want them to have. "Demons?"

"Yep. Welcome to the big leagues, kid."

"You sure… you sure I'm up to this? Sammy got hurt a couple months back 'cause I…"

"I know about that. Still wouldn't rather have anybody else watchin' my back."

"How 'bout Joshua, or Caleb. Or even Bobby. I know the two of you have your differences, but still…"

I snorted in amusement as I got up with a groan and popping joints of my own and sat at the table in the corner of the room. "Differences? That what you call chasing someone outta your house with a shotgun?"

"Well, we left Sam there."

"He likes Sam. Me not so much. But then I tend to have that effect on people. Look, Dean, I'm really not up for discussing this. Unless you really don't want to come with me?" I wasn't going to force Dean into anything. That would be beyond counterproductive.

"If I don't…" He licked his lips and blinked rapidly, his eyes growing suspiciously bright. "If I don't, will you leave?"

My heart clinched tight. Did he think I'd leave to punish him? "I'll have to eventually, but it won't be because I'm punishing you, Dean-o."

"Then why did you leave? Why won't you stay?" There was a hint of desperation in his tone that was threatening to break my heart.

"Dean…" I closed my eyes and swallowed at the lump in my throat. "You can't believe that there would ever be anything that you could possibly do that would make me leave you. I just… I just need you and Sam to be safe and this is the only way I know to make that happen. I know I send you two after dangerous things all the time… but this is different. This could destroy you both in ways that you could never imagine."

"Worse than bein' gang raped in a filthy alley?"

I ran a hand down my face. The kid could be brutally honest, heavy emphasis on the brutal, when he really wanted to. The raw pain in his voice made me want to cry. I wondered, not for the first time, if it would have happened if I'd been around. I wondered if _he_ believed it wouldn't have happened if I'd been around. "I don't know for sure. But I think it could. I really, really don't want to ever find out for sure."

* * *

I was standing outside the room, glancing in through the window so that I'd know when Dean was finished taking his shower, trying not to think about why he took so many now, as I listened to the phone ringing. A gruff voice answered and I wasn't sure if I should be relieved or… not afraid exactly. Wary was probably a better word. "Bobby?"

"What the hell, John? What's goin' on? I don't hear from you in four years and suddenly you show up and drop off your grown ass son to be watched over. Not that I'm complainin'. You know I love the boy and all, but it's just plain crazy. Even for you."

I snorted. "I can't explain why. It was for Dean. As for not hearing from me in four years, that tends to happen when you threaten to shot a guy full of buckshot."

"Something happen to one of 'em," he asked, ignoring my last sentence.

I sighed, all the fight going right out of me. "Yeah, Bobby. It was… bad. "

I heard the apprehension in his voice. "How bad?"

"Oh, it's right up there in the list of the five worst things that could happen to your kid."

"What was it?"

"Damn it Bobby!"

I heard a heavy sigh on the other end. "What the hell are you callin' for if you don't want to tell me nothin'?"

"Not about what I want. At least not that. I'm callin' you 'cause I'm a selfish bastard, Bobby."

"Hell, you're preachin' to the choir on that one, Winchester."

I smiled. His words were gruff but his tone wasn't. I found myself wondering why I took so long to call. Our friendship – and Bobby was maybe one of two or three people I could ever consider friends – had always been volatile. Yes, he'd threatened me with a shot gun. May have even shot me too, but it would have been somewhere none lethal. Son of a bitch probably would have patched me up afterwards and given me one of his famous left-handed apologies. It wasn't like I'd never threatened him with bodily harm on occasion. "I don't know if I have it in me to leave them again. It nearly killed me to do it before, but now…"

"Why the hell do you have to leave them at all? You never did explain that."

"It wants Sam. It gave him demon blood. Claimed him."

"What wants him?"

"Yellow Eyes."

"What? You sure?"

I sighed again and ran my fingers through my hair. "As sure as I can be with intel that comes from demons."

"Claimed him for what?"

"Don't know. Hope to find out tonight. I do know that's what it was all about. Mary, the fire. Jessica."

"Jessica?"

I cleared my throat. "Sam had a girlfriend in college. He stayed in one spot too long… bastard found him. She died the same way Mary did. Right over the boy's bed."

"Jesus, John. I had no idea."

"Neither do the boys, least not the reason anyway. I want to keep it that way if I can. I need to keep this away from them. If Yellow Eyes gets his hands on Sammy." I ran my fingers through my hair.

"Don't you think the boy has a right to know?"

"Know what? That his mother died 'cause o' him? That the woman he loved did too? That some demon's got a serious hard on for him? That he's… he's _tainted_? What fucking good is that going to do him?"

"You sound like one of those other fool hunters. You actually think the boy's tainted?"

I gritted my teeth in frustration. I didn't think Sam was tainted, not the way he made it sound. "I think that having demon blood in you ain't exactly the way to avoid the influence of evil. But he's my boy… he's not evil, I know that. I see the good in him. The innocence – when he's not bein' a stubborn ass fool. But if I told him… Look, Bobby, how the hell would you react if I told you that some demon fed you his blood when you were a baby? Would anyone be able to convince you that you weren't gonna turn?"

"Have you told Dean?"

Dean… Dean had more than enough on his plate. I was suddenly glad that I'd never told my oldest the truth about his baby brother. "I tell Dean, I give it a month, two tops, before Sammy knows." That was the truth. The original reason that I hadn't told the boy. But it wasn't the best anymore. I had a better one. If anything could shatter Dean, it was the knowledge that Sam could turn evil one day, could become the enemy.

"John…"

"I can't lose my boys, Bobby. I thought if anyone could understand that, it would be you."

"I do… I do. That's why you need to let me help, you stubborn old fool."

I laughed at that. "Okay. Okay. Maybe between you, me and Missouri we can find a way." I couldn't help remembering Sam's request, that I find a way to end this without dying. I really didn't want to leave my boys again. Especially not Dean, especially not now.

* * *

I crouched outside the warehouse, hoping that Dean wasn't having any problems with the traps and wards. I knew that he wasn't, he was too well trained to have problems with something so elemental, but worrying about details was just one of my many talents. I was thankful that dean was mostly obedient. If he had reservations about his orders, they hadn't been serious ones or he would have voiced them before we got here.

I felt my phone vibrate and pulled it out to see his text message. It was one word. Ready. It meant he was finished and stationed nearby waiting for me to lead the demon inside before sealing the last entrance with salt. I smiled to myself as I gripped the shot gun loaded with rock salt rounds. The ideas that boy came up with. Both my boys were too bright for their own good. In another life, I imagined that they would have both gone to college, gotten good jobs, settled down. Mary and I would have danced at their weddings. Calmed them down when they had their first children, who we would have spoiled rotten. Instead, here I was trapping a demon and hoping that my traumatized oldest son wouldn't hear anything about evil plans for his baby brother.

I sighed. Feeling sorry for myself and my boys wasn't going to do a damn thing but make me want to drink myself into a stupor. I'd done that before and it hadn't helped a thing. Had made things far worse. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as the demon stalked me, followed me to the warehouse. No matter how many times I did this, it never got easier.

Following me deeper in, the demon had maneuvered around a couple of traps on the floor and gotten caught by one of the ones on the ceiling. Dean should be sealing the entrance now, I thought as I began to casually recite an exorcism. The demon began screaming and I stopped in the middle. "Do I have your attention?"

The demon cocked his head, or more appropriately the head of the poor bastard he was possessing, at me. "What are you playing at now, Winchester?"

I threw holy water on him and waiting for his scream to die down. "I'll be askin' the questions here."

It smiled at me coldly. "Let me guess… you want to know about the plans Azazel's got for your baby boy?" My heart leaped into my throat. I had a name now… you could gain power over things sometimes if you knew their proper names. "He's gonna turn, you know. That demon blood making him all dark and broody inside. One day, he's just gonna snap and next thing you know people will be sacrificing virgins to him."

I threw more holy water on him just to shut him up. "What are Azazel's plans?"

This time it growled through the pain, then laughed. "Haven't you ever heard of the antichrist? But that's a boring subject. I'd rather talk about your other son… the pretty little whore."

Next thing I know I'm flying through the air, landing with a thud against a wall. I didn't fall, just hung here. Another demon had entered and was glaring at me. "You are persistent, I'll give you that."

"Azazel?"

The new demon laughed. "No, but I'm sure he'll be here soon once he knows we have you. You really were starting to make a nuisance of yourself."

"What did you do with my son?"

"Oh, the things that I'd like to do to that sweet little boy of yours out there. The ways I'd like to break _him_. I can tell he breaks beautifully. Might even be more fun than breaking you. But I haven't done anything to him… yet."

"That was your first mistake bitch," Dean's voice, cold and hard as granite, drew our attention and before the demon could react, the boy pulled the trigger. He had snuck in and maneuvered himself so that the demon was between him and one of the devil's traps. The force of the rock salt hitting the body of the possessed man sent it flying right into the trap and landing against the invisible wall on the opposite side. The force that held me against the wall disappeared and I slid down, just barely able to keep myself upright. "And your last this trip topside."

The demon roared with anger and I began reciting the exorcism again, rushing through it this time in a effort to keep either of the demons from becoming talkative again. Dean moved to stand next to me and I wondered how much he had heard. On one hand, I was glad I'd brought him with me because there's nobody I'd rather have by my side when the shit really hits the fan. On the other? He was pale and obviously shaken, and there was blood dripping from somewhere on his head. This definitely didn't go according to plan.

* * *

_A/N: I hoped you all liked this chapter. It was for some reason the hardest for me to write. I knew what I wanted to say, but it was just hard to put down on paper._

_I think it helped, __**DeanBean**__. I think Dean being able to actually say the word 'rape' was a big step._

_I'm glad you're enjoying it, __**stndabvthcrwd1**__. I think John's an admirable man. And, yeah, neither of these guys is in too much danger of becoming overly emotional. I for one am not of the opinion that they need to in order to deal._

_I'm glad you're still enjoying the story, __**riquity**__! If perfection were the standard that parents had to meet in order for us to appreciate them, then we'd all have to hate ours._

_Thanks for the compliment, __**nurple-girl**__! The Dean angst is just heartbreaking. I cry with every new chapter. Not sure what prompted me to break him since I adore him so much…_

_I always figured John had to be aware of everything he was doing on some level, __**deangirl1**__. He was had so many delicate balancing acts going, and it obviously hurt him to be away from his sons so much that I always knew there had to be very good reasons for him to torture himself like that._

_Glad to hear you love the John-Dean interaction, __**Yammy1983**__. I've always found them interesting._

_Fear not, __**greendaypumpkin**__. You won't have to choose between the two. Dean's pov will be told in the next chapter. I don't know how many Dean pov chapters I'm going to do (don't know how many more chapters I'm going to do period) because I like watching what's going on with him from the outside too._

_Thanks for reading!_

_-Angie_


	7. Reassurances

**Reassurances**

"Shoulda made the sonovabitch suffer. Bastard called me pretty." I pushed away the memory of the last time I'd been called pretty. My legs buckled and Dad was right there to catch me. I didn't want to be as reassured as I was by his presence, his arms around me. Just one more sign of weakness. But I'd always been weak where Dad was concerned so this was really no different. It was just harder to ignore now, like ever weakness I had was amplified. My head… I was barely hanging on to consciousness, darkness dancing at the edges of my vision as the adrenaline flowed too quickly out of my system.

I realized that we were both on the ground and wondered how we'd gotten there. Dad was poking at my skull, obviously trying to determine if it was in one piece. I hissed every time he got too close to the wound and he just clenched his jaw the way he did whenever he had to do something he didn't want to and kept going.

"Thank God for that hard head o' yours boy. Concussion?"

I tried to shake my head and what a fucking bad idea that was. It took me a second to answer because I had to keep my jaw clinched against the nausea that hit me in a sudden wave and disappeared just as quickly as it came. "Not serious." I wondered how many people could diagnose their own concussions.

"You sure?" I glared at him and he smirked. "Fine. Just want to be certain. No need to get all pissy on me. You hurt anywhere else?"

"Nope. Bastard threw me into the wall head-first. Played dead."

I felt my father's rumbling laughter go through me as he pulled me against his chest. "Good boy."

"'M sorry."

"What the hell are you sorry for now?" His voice was a mix of affection and irritation.f

"Let it get the drop on me. Put you in danger."

"Boy, you do realize you're talkin' to the guy who was pinned helplessly to the wall not five minutes ago. You saved my ass, with a concussion. If you apologize to me again, I'm gonna have to kick your ass just on principle."

I laughed, which wasn't the world's best idea, but I couldn't help it. Dad's arms tightened around me and I closed my eyes for a moment to soak it in before pulling away and squinting up at him. "So are we just gonna stay here and cuddle?" Because, really, this was getting a little weird.

He huffed out a soft laugh as his lips twisted into a slight smirk at my sarcasm. "Whatever smartass. Think you can walk?"

"Only one way to find out for sure."

We got up slowly, most of my weight supported by my father. Part of me still saw him as invincible, but sometimes I thought about how fucking old he was and it amazed me that he could still do this. Still be pinned to a wall one minute, and half carry my useless ass around the next. That he could take on things that could effortlessly kill men half his age. Hell, I was half his age and I wasn't sure I'd live to be his age. Most of the time I was certain that I wouldn't. But it never mattered to me. Death didn't scare me. What scared me was the possibility that I'd die alone.

I wavered on my feet and didn't fight it when Dad pulled me against him, held my head against his shoulder. I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent – soap, gun oil, smoke and just Dad. Longing for the past twisted suddenly in my gut and I wished for the days when no matter how fucked up things got all it took to make my world right was crawling into his lap. I started trembling so hard, all I could do was clutch at his coat and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Why did everything, _every god damned thing_, have to remind me of what happened? Why the hell did I have to keep going back there?

"It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be alright." He said it over and over like a mantra, like a fucking incantation. And damn if I wasn't starting to believe it a little.

I don't know how long we stood there before he got us moving again, got us to his truck. He checked my eyes with a pin light and grunted in relief then told me to stay put while he checked on the poor bastards the demons had been possessing. I tried to stay awake, tried to keep an eye on his six even as he disappeared from sight, but it was a losing battle. I was asleep by the time he returned.

_

* * *

_

The hand on the back of my neck was like a vise. Every inch of my already bruised body hurt from the beating I'd just taken, and I could feel the bleeding from my torn stitches. It was too much, and I wondered if they'd punctured something. I was pinned over a stack of crates. My body screamed every time I tried to move. Not that I could move much. Bastards knew what they were doin'. I growled in frustration. Another hand pressed against the small of my back and I gasped in pain from my ribs and open wound. The pain was so bad, it took me a second to realize that they were pulling down my pants and boxers. Now my legs were effectively trapped by the heavy denim of my jeans and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to get out of this. With mounting horror, what was happening finally sunk in. I had known it all along, but it hadn't seemed real until this moment, bent over and pinned down, my naked ass in the air like a perverted offering.

"_I swear I'll fucking kill you." But my voice didn't sound threatening. It sounded small and frightened._

_Several of them, maybe all of them, laughed at that. "You ain't exactly in any position to threaten anyone, are you boy?" The voice was behind me. I didn't answer. Just closed my eyes._

_I cried out in pain as something thick and blunt shoved its way into me. I was vaguely aware that I was pleading, begging like some little bitch for them to stop. Whatever was being forced into my ass didn't stop and I knew there was no way it wasn't tearing me. But I knew what it was. I was being fucked. I felt like I was going to be sick and I wasn't sure what was the most responsible – the pain, my helplessness or the fact that another man's cock was in me. I blinked away tears of pain and humiliation and tried to fight again, buck the man off my back. That only sent fresh pain ripping through my nerves and pulled a whimper out of my throat. Laughter echoed through the alley and I just closed my eyes against the shame. Fighting would only make this more real and all I wanted was to be somewhere, anywhere, else._

_My brain just sorta switched off. I was only vaguely aware of what was happening to me, of being moved and positioned, of being penetrated repeatedly, of being scratched and bruised, of my phone ringing several times. But it was almost like one of those out of body experiences you read about, like I was there but watching what was happening. Almost like it wasn't happening to me._

_Finally, I heard someone say, "come on. I think we broke the little bitch."_

_Laughter echoed in the alley. "He was a tight whore, wasn't he?"_

_I think I drifted off because the sound of my phone ringing again made me jump. I was alone and laying on my side. I was foggy, not really sure where I was or why, just that I was cold. Fucking freezing actually. I tried to sit up and the pain brought everything back in a rush because as many times as I'd been hurt on a hunt or in a bar fight, I'd never been hurt_ there_. Tears stung my eyes as my brain skittered around the edges of what had happened, trying desperately to ignore it but not really succeeding. I gagged and rolled over onto my hands and knees just in time as everything still in my stomach came up. It wasn't much, mostly bile. I hadn't eaten yet. I was going to pick something up on the way back to the hotel 'cause Sam probably hadn't eaten either. Jesus, Sam! He must be freaking out by now. It took me several tries to get on my feet and pull my pants on. I felt wet and sloppy and torn in half and my jeans rubbed me in all the wrong ways. I tried to walk out of the alley, but ended up stumbling against the wall. My legs began to tremble and I slid down the cold slimy bricks with a strangled sob. Fresh tears started falling when my ass hit the ground and pain lit up all the nerves in my body._

_My phone rang again, reminding me that I needed to get back to my little brother. I didn't have time for a breakdown. I couldn't let him find me like this, couldn't let anyone find me like this but especially not Sam. I just wanted to forget it ever happened and if Sam found out that would be impossible. Being the emo little bastard he was he'd want to talk about it. That was the last thing I ever wanted to do. So I needed to get my ass up and find somewhere to pull myself together. Only problem was I wasn't sure I could actually move._ Blood loss_, my brain supplied for me._ Well thank you Captain Obvious_, I replied bitterly to my inner voice. I managed to get up on my knees but a wave of dizziness kept me from raising more._

"_Dean! What the fuck, dude!"_

_I jerked away from the voice, landing on my sore ass again before I realized that it belonged to my brother. Fuck! "Sammy?"_

"_What the hell happened?"_

_For the first time that night, my luck improved. I passed out before I had to answer that question._

* * *

I woke up with a start and a muffled shout, pain slicing through my head at the sudden movement. I groaned and swallowed hard at the bitterness in my mouth as my stomach tried to revolt, mostly from the pain but partly from the nightmare. I reminded myself that I wasn't in that alley. I was in Wisconsin hunting demons with my father. The room was still dark, but part of the sky that I could see though the window was a bright scarlet, promising one hell of an impressive sunrise. Last I remembered was being in the truck waiting for Dad, now I was in the bed furthest from the door in our hotel room. I rolled my eyes as I realized that the man had actually tucked me in. Seriously? I slowly pulled myself up into a sitting position, my back against the headboard as I looked over at my father's bed. It was empty. He wasn't in my bed – I refused to dwell on how much safer I felt when he was – and the bathroom door was open and the light off. Had he left again? Maybe called Sam and told him to come get me?

Just as panic was setting in, I heard a key in the lock and Dad stumbled in with two large paper bags. "Oh, you're up. How you feellin'?" He kicked the door closed behind him as he studied me for a second.

"'M fine. Head barely hurts 'slong as I don't move too fast. Where were you?"

"Taking care of the bodies. The demons rode 'em hard, they were dead long before last night."

"You didn't do that before we left?"

He shook his head. "Wanted to get you safe first. Only went back then in case they were still alive and needed help."

I snorted, thinking about the poor bastards whose lives were over, whose families would never know what happened to them. They died alone, locked in their own heads. "Figures. Hate demons."

Dad nodded in agreement as he sat the bags he was carrying on the table. "Got us some provisions. Think you can hold down some eggs and bacon?"

"Yeah."

"Good," he said as he pulled a carton of eggs, along with a few other things, out of the bags.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"I'll sleep once I get you fed." He brought over a bottle of water and handed it to me. "Drink this… slowly."

I watched my father's body language as he walked away. Noticed the slope of his shoulders, the darkness in his eyes. Like he was carrying a burden he had no intention of sharing. "What's wrong Dad," I asked as I opened the bottle and took a sip.

His shoulders sagged briefly, but he squared them as he looked at me over his shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile. "It's nothing for you to worry about. I just need to work some things out in my head. Everything's gonna be alright, kiddo."

Saying that Dad was hiding something was probably a little like saying that the sky was blue or water was wet. I grew up with his secrets. His silences and preoccupations. The thing that always made them bearable, comforting even, was the fact that it was all for us. For me and especially for Sammy. He was a man obsessed with keeping us safe. That's why I obeyed him without question, why it always pissed me off that Sam never seemed to trust him. If it hadn't been for Dad, we'd both be dead a hundred times over. Sam would say that he put us in danger in the first place, but I wasn't so sure about that. I always believed that Dad had a damn good reason for raising us the way that he did. It was just a reason that he wasn't willing to share.

I didn't understand most of what he wanted me to do, why he left me the way he did with no explanation and it drives me crazy. Over the months, it had gotten harder and harder to tell myself that he left for my own good. Because I can't help but think that he just couldn't stand bein' around me anymore. I got on his nerves one too many times, or had to be reminded to get my head in the game once too often and he took off. Just like Sammy had. Just like Sammy _still_ wants to. Not that Sam's mentioned leaving again since… since I was attacked. I think he's afraid that I'd break completely if he brought it up. I don't ask 'cause I'm afraid he might be right. But I know he's going to as soon as we kill Yellow Eyes, as soon as he thinks I'm not a total wreck anymore.

I worry my bottom lip as I watch my father cook in the little kitchenette. His movements are efficient and precise. The man cooks the way he shoots a gun, or throws a knife. The only difference is that he can do anything with a gun or a knife, but with cooking… not so much. The simpler he keeps it the better so eggs and bacon, with maybe some toast, are just about right.

Like Sam, Dad's been different since he found out. I want to believe that they're both just showin' me what's been there all along, but there are times when I think that they just feel sorry for me. Those are the times when I wish I could just disappear. Then Sam and Dad would be free of me. But I can't bring myself to leave either of them no matter how many times they leave me. I'm not sure if that makes me selfish or pathetic. Maybe a lot of both.

_

* * *

_

A/N: I just want to thank all my readers. I am so glad that you are enjoying this story so much. Telling a story that no one appreciates is no fun at all. This chapter was the most difficult to get through so far (at least for me writing it). I hope you all enjoy it.

_Hey __**deangirl1**__! The kid they had playing young Dean was cute, but you'd never think he'd grow up to be DEAN. I figured the pretty had to start somewhere._

_You're welcome, __**riquitv**__. Dean's getting there slowly but surely. I hope this update worked for you._

_I'm glad you're enjoying the ride, __**stndabvthcrwd1**__. I like exploring how this happening to Dean effects everything else. And frankly, the more John I can get the better. Cause the only improvement you could ever make on Sam and Dean in my book is adding John to the mix._

_Thanks, __**DeanBeanWinchester**__! Poor Dean and John indeed…_

_Unfortunately Dean didn't really overhear anything, __**Yammy**__, but that doesn't mean he won't figure a few things out._

_Thanks __**greendaypumpkin**__! I am so glad that you're enjoying this._

_Thank you, __**EtainAingeal**__! I agree. A lot of writers enjoy piling on John, or turning him into a emotionally or sexually abusive father. He was just human. I think that's why I like him so much. He was a good man, not a perfect man._

_-Angie _


	8. Fight

**Fight**

I got Dean fed and off to take his shower easily. The boy was always compliant, even when he was sick. He was less crabby and snarky then he usually was when he was injured though. I kicked off my boots and curled up in the bed furthest from the door and stayed alert while Dean was in the shower just in case. I knew I'd wake up if he fell, but I might waste time trying to fight through disorientation. Besides, I really did have a lot I was trying to figure out. I had one son who just needed me to be there for him and another who some son of a bitch demon was planning to turn into the antichrist. If I did what one needed, I'd be hurting the other. If I tried doing both… I'd put at least Dean at risk. I'd have to tell him everything and ask him to leave Sam. As if I could just leave the boy behind. He wouldn't just let us go and while one of us could possible hide from him, there was no way both of us could. And he'd be alone and vulnerable out there searching for us. I'd might as well gift wrap the boy and hand him over to the Yellow Eyed bastard on a silver platter.

Dean came out of the bathroom already dressed in sweats. Gone was his casually uninhibited behavior. He didn't come out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel anymore, or change his clothes in the same room. He didn't even sleep in just boxers and a t-shirt anymore. Just more reminders of how much my boy had changed. And how much I had loved him being the way he used to be. He paused at the bed and looked at me with a mixture of sadness and fear that had me wondering if I'd miscalculated, if it wouldn't make him feel better for me to be this close to him. I didn't let my worry show on my face and simply raised my eyebrows.

"Somethin' wrong?" I phrased the question so that he wouldn't have to ask me to stay if he wanted me to – which he would probably rather die than do – but he could tell me to get the hell out of his bed if that's what he wanted.

He finally let out a soft huff of air and shrugged. "Nothin'."

He crawled into bed and curled up on his side facing away from me, his back pressed against my chest. I was glad to see him drift right off, but it took me a while because my mind was still turning in circles, trying desperately to figure out what the right thing was. Although I was probably just as likely to admit it as Dean was, I got as much comfort from the warm press of his back against me as he got from me being here. It was something I could do, something I could give him. Like when he was a child and he'd have his nightmares and crawl into my bed. I drifted off to sleep thinking how ironic it was that I was actually missing those days.

* * *

"Dad! How's Dean? Are you alright?"

I chuckled softly. If Sammy had a tail I swear he'd be wagging it. "I'm fine, Dean's fine. His head had a slight disagreement with a brick wall, and then he saved the old man's ass. You know, the usual."

Sam snorted. "I swear his skull must be made out of steel."

I snorted in agreement. "We're headin' out in the morning. I just wanted to let you know that we're good and the hunt's done. How about you, kid? How you doin'?" _Any demonic visions? Any sudden desire to take over the world?_

"I'm good. Just bored."

"Bored with all those books around? There was a time when you would have pouted for a week just to get to spend a day or two at Bobby's."

"Yeah, well, times change."

"I suppose they do. Bobby around?"

"Yeah. He's cookin'."

I rolled my eyes. I could almost see him in his Kiss the Chef apron and omnipresent baseball cap. If I hadn't seen him without it on a couple of times, I would swear the damn hat was sowed on, like that one toy Sam had when he was six. "I bet. Tell Betty Crocker I wanna talk to him for a minute. In private."

There was a soft sigh. "Hold on." I heard my son's voice in the background. "Hey, Betty, Dad wants to talk to you." I snorted out a laugh. I might wonder sometimes, but the boy was definitely mine. Only a Winchester would have the balls to call Bobby that to his face.

"There might not be much left of your kid by the time you get back, John."

"The boy said he was bored. I'm sure he'd welcome a little sparrin' match."

Bobby snorted and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'damn fool Winchesters.' "Whadda ya want now?"

"Are you in the same room with Sam?"

"Not anymore. Kid was tryin' to hide 'round the corner. Figured that meant you wanted this conversation to stay private."

"Yeah. I need you to dig up everything you can on a demon named Azazel, Bobby. I need it as soon as you can get it."

"Azazel? This _the_ demon, John?"

"So I've been told. These demons, though, they're a bunch of fuckin' liars one and all."

"Ain't that the truth. Yellow Eyes could be sendin' us after an enemy. Or just fuckin' with your head altogether."

"All I know is it's a lead. I've been trackin' this son of a bitch for years, just waitin' for a chance to take it out. I can't afford to get too cautious now. My boys can't afford it."

"Okay. I'll see what I can dig up. Just be careful, ya damn fool. Somethin' happens to you and Dean, I'm turnin' Sam over to child services."

I chuckled. "Oh don't get your panties in a twist, Betty." I hung up the phone before he could reply.

* * *

"Dad? You awake?"

I was silent for a moment. I had almost forgotten about this. If Dean was injured and spent an entire day recovering, it was almost inevitable that he'd be up that night. And for Dean, up didn't mean I'm awake and I'll keep quiet. No. It meant, I'm up and won't rest until everyone else is up too. "Yeah?"

"Wanna watch TV?"

No, not really. I closed my eyes and swallowed the sharp answer I wanted to give. "What's on?"

I felt him shift next to me, knew he was trying to gauge the level of my annoyance. "I donno." He turned on the set. Had he had the remote the entire time? I had to laugh. "What?"

"Nothin'. You think they have any of those old martial arts movies on?" I had fond memories of those movies. We'd all spent hours watching those things. Sammy had seemed to grow out of them, but Dean never had.

"You mean the ones with the bad voice overs and weird hair?"

"Where they learn how to fight good enough to kill someone who spent their lives learning martial arts in five months."

"God, I hope so."

* * *

Dean and I left Wisconsin behind first thing in the morning. I could tell that the boy was feeling much better. After all he had been up almost the entire night annoying me. It was almost alarming how well he could function with head trauma. He spent the morning sitting next to me happily laying into the biggest bag of Peanut M&Ms I could find him like it was steak and singing along to Metallica. There was a time when I used to worry that the boy had some sort of oral fixation, but now it was just one more quirk that made him Dean.

"You need some caffeine," I asked as we pulled into a gas station.

"Nah, I'm good. I can drive if you need me to."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. You pay, I'll pump."

I got a few things to feed the bottomless pit that was my eldest son after paying for the gas. By the time I was leaving the station and heading for the truck, there was some guy hassling Dean. I could tell by the set of his face that he was an inch away from pounding the guy into a bloody pulp. I started to rush in, save the idiot, when I heard some of what he said.

"Oh, come on… you can't tell me that a pretty boy like you 's never taken it up the ass before."

Okay, so maybe I'll let Dean hit him a few times. The vicious proficiency of Dean's attack took even me by surprise. By the time I got there and pulled Dean away, the man was down with a broken nose, and at least bruised ribs, trying to crawl away. The kid was trying to get away from me, obviously not realizing who I was. He was deep in a fight or flight response. Guess it shouldn't surprise me that Dean would choose fight.

"Dean, son," I started but never finished as I found myself on the receiving end of his right hook. Damn, the boy hit like a fucking sledge hammer. I was able to grab his wrist as he tried to follow it up with a jab and slam him into the side of the truck, twisting his arm behind his back. I barked in my most commanding voice, "Dean, calm the fuck down, now!"

My tone seemed to get through to him and he went limp. "Dad? God, Dad, I…"

"It's okay, son. It's okay. Get in the truck."

He silently obeyed, quickly getting into the passenger side and slouching as far into the seat as his frame would allow. I turned to the man still cowering on the ground. "Next time someone tells you back off, I suspect you'll do it, boy. I suggest you take this as a learning experience and forget you ever saw us. Anyone comes after my son, and that includes the law, and I'll be back for you. You sure as hell don't want that."

The man just looked up at me, eyes wide. Well one was wide. The other would likely be swollen shut inside an hour. I could tell he believed me and that just had to do. I turned on my heel and got in the truck. We drove in silence until we came up on a secluded side road. I pulled over and turned Dean's head to look at his face, to make sure the son of a bitch didn't get in a lucky punch. I didn't see one, but I needed to be sure. The kid already had a slight concussion. "Did he hit you?"

Dean shook his head. "'M sorry."

"Dammit, boy, didn't I tell you to quit apologizin'?"

"But I _hit_ you Dad!"

I chuckled and felt the inside of my cheek with my tongue. My gums were sore and I had a cut. "You definitely did. I feel like I was kicked in the jaw by a mule. That's a hell of a right hook you got there, kiddo. I think you been holdin' back on the old man when we spar."

He just stared at me with his wide green eyes and shook his head again. I could almost hear him calling me a crazy son of a bitch. If I were anyone else, he probably would have said it out loud. "Aren't you pissed at me?"

"Why would I be pissed? You didn't hit me on purpose. And it's not like I can't hold my own. Did you hit your head on the truck?"

"No sir."

"Good."

"Dad? Can I ask you a question?"

Whenever Dean asked permission to ask me something, it was always a question he didn't want ask, but felt as if he couldn't avoid. "Sure."

"What's wrong with me?"

"Come again?"

"Why," he paused and licked his lips, a nervous gesture he'd had since he was a kid. "Why do people always think I'm gay? Do you think…"

"Dean, that guy was just a stupid bastard."

"It's not just him. And it's not just… not just the r... the rape. Ever since I was a kid, guys have hit on me. And sometimes people think Sammy and me are… Do you think they know something about me that I don't?"

"Son… no. I don't think that." Growing up, the one thing Dean had always been comfortable with was his sexuality. If he'd been gay, I can't imagine a single thing that would have made him hid that from himself. He sure as hell wasn't afraid of my disapproval, if he had been, he would have been a lot less active. He mumbled something that I didn't quite catch. "What was that, Dean-o?"

"I said I came."

I never claimed to be the smartest man in the world, so it took me a while to put that together. The kid was a mess and I didn't want to push him for an explanation. He came where exactly and why would that have anything to do with him suddenly questioning his sexuality? It had to have something to do with the attack. Why would coming somewhere remind him of… oh. He ejaculated. I sucked in a breath as I understood what this was about. I'd read all the literature too, I'd gotten up in the middle of the night and read everything I could come across. Even ordered a few books. He curled in on himself even more, obviously taking my silence and reaction as a rejection. I reached over and put my hand on the back of his neck, gently messaging the tense muscles there. It was something I used to do when I was training him and he made a mistake. The kid would internally berate himself until he was a bundle of nerves and I'd message his neck to get him to relax. I think it was more the fact that it was a sign that I wasn't angry with him than anything else that actually calmed him. I was a tough son of a bitch to please, but that didn't mean I wanted him walking around in knots all the time.

"That's natural," I said, trying to sound much calmer then I felt, as if his announcement didn't completely knock me off balance.

"Natural?"

"Yeah. Most men do under those circumstances. It's simple biology. That's just what your prostate does. Pressure on it makes you… react. Has nothing to do with actually wantin' sex."

"Maybe it is natural, but it's still fucked up." He was crying. I couldn't see his face, but I could hear it in his voice. That slight tremor. I always hated it when the boys cried.

"What's fucked up is that they hurt you at all. So you ejaculated. Doesn't mean you deserved what happened, or that you secretly wanted it."

He shifted backwards so that he was leaning into my hand. "I keep hearing what they said, what they called me. Every time I see a pretty girl, I think why the hell would she want me after what happened?"

I had to swallow the lump in my throat before I could speak. "Because you're a good man, Dean. When you find a woman good enough for you, then nothing else will matter."

* * *

_A/V: I'm sorry it's been taking me so long to get my chapters up. I have so many projects vying for attention in my head right now. I hope this chapter was worth the wait._

_Hey __**deangirl**__! I'm so pleased that you loved getting Dean's pov. Sam's really been getting on my nerves in the series. But then, I always find myself on Dean's side anyway._

_Here you go __**DeanBean**__. I hope you enjoyed it!_

_I hope Dean realizes they really love him soon too, __**Yammy**__!_

_I'm glad you liked that last chapter, __**greendaypumpkin**__, and I hope you liked this one as well._

_I agree, __**riquitv**__. Dean still needs more time to heal. I think he's come a long way with John and Sam around to help._

_As the movie title says, __**NongPradu**__, there will be blood. These are the Winchesters, after all. You can't just hurt one of them and expect nothing to happen to you. This is a very difficult subject to handle. I find it written often to titillate, which is a pov I didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole. I wanted to show that rape hurts men just like it hurts women, but often in slightly different ways._

_I'm glad you liked the last chapter, __**stndabvthcrwd**__. Dean is such a deliciously complex character, I love getting into his head._

_-Angie_


	9. Abandonment

**Abandonment**

Dean had some of his old swagger back when he and Dad returned from their hunt. I was glad to see it, glad to see his old smile, even if it was fleeting and his eyes were still haunted and he didn't seem to be able to be apart from Dad for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time. It was clear that he was afraid that now that the hunt was over, Dad was going to take off again. I wasn't sure who I was more upset with. Dean for not coming to terms with what a stubborn jackass Dad was, or Dad for being such a stubborn jackass.

After dinner we sat on the front porch with Dad and Bobby drinking beer and laughing about old times. Of course, most of the best punch lines were at my expense but I was more than willing to put up with it because Dean was smiling – fucking _smiling _– and I just wanted to hug him until he pushed me away and looked at me like I'd lost my mind. That smile was almost enough to make me forgive Dad for planning to leaving us again. After a few hours, Dad and Bobby disappeared into Bobby's office, leaving me and Dean alone. The silence was almost comfortable. After a few minutes Dean cleared his throat.

"'M sorry, Sammy." He was looking down at the beer bottle in his hand as he slowly peeled off the label.

I frowned at him. "For what?"

"For not talking to you about what happened. About the… about the rape. I know I was kind of a jerk about it sometimes." He swallowed hard and the urge to hug him was back. He'd actually admitted what happened. Actually said the word out loud. I knew it was hard for me to say and I couldn't imagine how much harder it was for him.

I inched closer to him until our shoulders were touching. When he didn't move away, I couldn't stop the small relieved smile that curved my lips. "It's okay. I didn't like it, but I understood why you didn't want to talk about it."

He nodded and stared off into the rows of cars. "I just wanted it all to go away, you know? Just stop feeling, stop remembering, stop _knowing_. Sometimes I wanted that so bad I thought about just ending it all."

"And now?"

"Now… I don't know. I accept that it's not going away. Somehow that makes it easier to deal with. Dad says that I have post traumatic stress disorder. Said he had it too after Mom died."

I nodded. I'd known that already. I just always thought that Dean would take my head off if I said it out loud. "That makes sense. So do you still want to?"

"Want to what?"

"End it all sometimes."

"Oh. No."

I knew he was lying. Probably so I wouldn't worry, wouldn't go on a suicide watch. "That's good. I suppose for most people, though, feeling like that wouldn't go away completely for a while. They'd still want that every once in a while."

He nodded, obviously relieved that I hadn't pushed it, that he could talk about it without admitting to still have suicidal thoughts. "Yeah. I can see why they'd feel that way sometimes. When it got to be too big to deal with."

"How did you get through it? When it was like that?"

"I just had to find somethin' to hold on to. Somethin' that meant too much to walk away from."

I didn't have to ask what that was. Us, me and Dad. His family. I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. We hadn't been much of a family lately. I couldn't remember the last time Dad and I could be in the same room for more than an hour without arguing about something. It didn't matter how many times I told myself to just let it go, I could never actually manage it. Dad wasn't going to change. The man was too set in his ways, too stubborn. Unfortunately I was just as stubborn. Neither one of us probably deserved Dean's loyalty. Or his love for that matter. But I needed to try for Dean. "I'm not going back to school Dean."

He looked at me, shock clearly written all over his face. He still thought I was biding my time, waiting for the right moment to abandon him again. "What? Why? I thought that was your dream."

"It was. But a lot's changed since then. I've changed since then."

"You're not doin' this 'cause you feel sorry for me, are you? 'Cause I'm not a victim Sam and I don't want your pity."

"I don't pity you Dean. I'm doin' this because… because all those years while Dad was tracking down Yellow Eyes, I didn't get it. I thought that he was just obsessed with revenge, that all the hunts in between were just practice. It wasn't until recently that I realized that it wasn't just about Mom. It was about making sure that what happened to us didn't happen to anyone else if he could help it. And now I see that I can't just walk away. If I did, it would always haunt me. I wouldn't be able to live with the idea of all the people I could have helped suffering because I just turned my back. 'All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.' Dad got that. You got that. I was a little slow on the uptake."

Dean raised his eyebrows at me in disbelief. It was a Dad gesture. "You're quoting War and Peace now?"

"You _read _War and Peace?"

"I read," he said defensively as he took a sip of his beer.

It occurred to me that I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him read anything that didn't have to do with a job, other than a skin mag. "Why do you hide how smart you are, Dean?"

"Hey, you and Dad are the brains of this operation. Just 'cause I read War and Peace doesn't mean anything. Dad made me read it when I dropped out. Made me read Art of War too."

"Dean, you didn't just read it, you remember the quote. You made an EMF reader out of a walkman that works better than any store bought one I've ever had. You're the first hunter in the whole fucking history of hunting that thought up putting rock salt in a shotgun. And you're a better strategist then I could ever hope to be. I'd say that makes you pretty damned smart."

"Whatever Sammy." He leaned back and sipped his beer, still not looking at me. But I could tell he was thinking about what I'd said.

* * *

Dad was leaving our room as I was getting out of the shower. He didn't look at me as he went back down stairs and there was something about the slop of his shoulders. This couldn't be good. I found Dean standing in front of the window, his forehead resting against the glass. He didn't look up when I entered, but he knew it was me.

"He's leavin' first thing in the morning," he said, his voice thick and quiet.

"Why? The demon?"

"Yeah."

Son of a bitch. How could he just leave? Just walk away from Dean like this? I quickly put on a set of sweats and headed for the door. "I'll be back."

"Damn it Sam! Don't go down there and pick a fight with him."

I turned to see him facing me. There were unshed tears in his eyes, but right now he seemed more pissed then anything. How did I get to be the bad guy here? Dad was the one abandoning us."I'm not going to. I promise."

"Right. Because you two are so damn good at having a reasonable discussion."

"I'm not even going to talk to him. I'm going to talk to Bobby."

"What the hell, Sam? This is family business."

"I'm not going to tell him anything. Just try to see if I can figure out what they're hiddin' from us."

"Yeah, 'cause Bobby's just gonna spill. Just like that."

"Maybe not, but I gotta do something."

"Swear to me that you won't argue with Dad."

"Dean…"

"Swear, Sam!"

"Fine! I swear that I won't argue with Dad."

"Fine!"

I left the room and went down the stairs as quietly as possible. There was a light coming from underneath the door of Bobby's office. The house was old, had lots of squeaking floorboards and I wasn't nearly as good at moving silently as Dean, but I was motivated. I miraculously made it to the door and put my ear to the keyhole. Dad would kill me if he caught me. Hell, Dean would probably help.

"… you suggest I do," Dad huffed, sounding annoyed the way he always did when someone contradicted him.

"Maybe it's time you just told the boys the truth."

"You said that already."

"Yeah, and I'm sayin' it again." Bobby was probably the only man in the world who could out stubborn my father, and even then it was a tossup as to who would win any given argument.

"How can I tell them somethin' that I'm not even sure I can handle knowin' myself half the damn time? You don't know how many times I've sat up all night tryin' to just find some way out of this mess. The longer I stay, the harder it'll get to leave."

"What'll this do to Dean, John? I don't know what the hell happened, but I can see the boy's all tore up over somethin'. I ain't seen him this attached to you since before he started school. He's practically your damn shadow."

"Well, welcome to my fuckin' nightmare, Bobby. The types of things I have to prioritize are just plan fucked all to hell. Do I keep them safe, or do I just let them be kids. Do I help a family whose baby girl was replaced by a changeling or do I keep my promise to be home by Christmas Eve. Do I make my baby boy's life a little happier by staying in one place for an entire year and letting him join a soccer team, or do I make sure that he lives to see his next birthday. Do I give Dean what he needs, or do I do what has to be done to protect Sammy. I swear to god, Bobby, sometimes I don't know how the hell I keep it together from one day to the next. This is not exactly what I signed up for when I decided to settle down and have a family." Dad laughed. "You know, when I first found out what they were, I almost headed straight for a crossroads?"

"What stopped ya?"

"That's how this whole mess began. Making deals with demons. I couldn't see a way that making another one would somehow magically make it all better."

"A deal? Who made a deal?"

"Mary. Ten years and six months to the day before she died." Mom made a deal? My breath caught in my throat.

"You mean… so she's…"

"She didn't make a deal for her soul. She didn't know what the deal was for. She just had to agree to let the son of a bitch come to our house in ten years. There was no way she could have known what she was agreein' to. I have to believe that if she'd known that she was sellin' her own son's soul, a son who wasn't even born yet, she never would've made that deal." I must have made a noise because dad suddenly went silent, then cursed softly under his breath. "Get your ass in here boy," he growled and I couldn't help the slight tremor that ran up my spine at the sound of his voice. Only a complete fool wouldn't be afraid of pissing off John Winchester, son or not.

I took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside, avoiding my father's eyes, and waited for him to yell at me. "I thought you grew outta eavesdroppin', Sam." His voice was a low growl. That was actually worse than yelling. Dad always got this scary quiet intensity when he was really angry. Fuck.

I cleared my throat, realizing that he expected an explanation. "I wanted to know what you've been hidin' from us. I knew you wouldn't tell me if I asked, and I knew Dean wouldn't even ask."

"Dean asked. He just knows how to take no for an answer."

"He just lets you get away with treating him like a child."

Silence. Silence so thick and heavy that it could be cut with a steak knife. It filled the air and made drawing breath actually hurt. "I don't treat your brother like a child."

"Oh that's right. You treat him like a soldier." And I knew I shouldn't be challenging him like this, but Dean still had a long way to go before he was back to his old self and Dad just up and leaving like this was making me so angry I couldn't see straight. If Bobby weren't in the room, I'd be saying a lot worse. But I couldn't betray Dean like that.

Dad shook his head and I could see him trying to reign in his temper. "You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about boy. I suggest you quit while you're ahead and go get your brother."

"Get my… why?" Now I was confused. And guilty. My promise to Dean came back to me in a rush. I'd promised not to fight with Dad and not ten minutes later that's exactly what I was doing.

"I'm only explainin' this once, so if you wanna know what's goin' on, bring him down here before I change my damn mind."

* * *

A/N: Here's another chapter, from Sammy's point of view again. This story has really snowballed! I thought maybe three or four chapters from start to finish in the beginning, and here I am on chapter nine.

Welcome to my story, **moira4eku**! Thanks for the review. I always thought that Dean could be vulnerable easier with his father then his brother, though it was hard for him with both. I'm sure he does get tired of men hitting on him…

I'm sure he will, **Vindictivemuse**. Thanks for the review!

Thank you for the reviews, **hitchcock-starlet**! I'm glad to see that you and others agree with me re John. Sometimes I feel all alone in my John-love. If I hear one more person try to explain away his sacrifice for Dean by saying that he was just 'tired,' I'll scream. Who sees going Hell as a vacation? Seriously? If I wanted to rest, I'd be thinking Bermuda. Not freaking hellfire and brimstone. I'm trying really hard to do the subject matter and the characters justice. This should never be viewed as a 'fun' subject, or seen as titillating in any way. It destroys too many lives to be trivialized. Bobby always seems to pop up in my stories. I just can't seem to help it.

You're welcome **riquity**. Unfortunately, Sam doesn't agree with you re John. Yeah, Dean needs his family. But then, he always has.

Hey **NongPradu**! Glad you liked the last chapter. I think Dean's sort of building up to what he says, and that he's kept it all bottled up for so long he almost can't help himself. I absolutely adore Dean (I'm trying to negotiate for the rights to him once Supernatural is no longer on the air, but they just keep hanging up on me for some reason) and even I recognize he can be annoying sometimes. But then, can't we all?

Welcome to my imagination, **redgiffin7**. Dark and scary place isn't it? Thanks for the review, and rest assured that I'm a big believer in the concept of justice.

Hi Yammy! I love how John cares for Dean too. I like to think I understand John. I have men in my family like him. They're can be emotionally repressed and imperfect, but they'd cut off their right arms for you. I'd take that any day over someone who'll weep with me over my pain, but won't do much about it.

That's usually how it is when you're recovering from trauma, **greendaypumpkin**. Two steps forward, one step back. Thank you so much for the kind words.

Hi **Babyreaper**! I'm so glad you found my story. I hope you enjoy this latest chapter.

Welcome, **Hell's Aphrodite**. I'm very pleased that you enjoy my story. The Winchesters are men… and not just men, but men's men. You know, men who dig bullets out of each other without painkillers and then call each other wimps if they flinch. So I try to avoid fluff and sentimentality as much as possible with them. Sam sometimes goes there, but not often and not too far. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the previous eight.

-Angie


	10. Need

**Need**

"I'm right here." I looked behind me to see Dean stepping out of the shadows in the next room.

I felt my cheeks burn as I flushed. Damn he was good at that. Snuck up right behind me and I never even suspected. "'M sorry Dean."

"Don't be. My fault. You never were much good at keepin' your promises. Should have remembered that." His eyes burned into mine, dark and intense, as he entered the room and I backed up a few steps. Great. Dad and Dean were both angry with me. Way to go Sam. I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Bobby cleared his throat, reminding us all he was still there. "Well, there's gotta be somethin' somewhere in this damn house that needs dustin'," he muttered as he walked out and shut the door behind him. Because, really, no one in their right mind would willingly stay in a room full of angry and edgy Winchesters. None of us even acknowledge his departure.

"Sam," my head jerked around to meet my father's gaze. "Why don't you share with your brother what you overheard?"

"Mom…" I paused and swallowed hard, what I'd heard before finally sinking in. "Mom made a deal."

"What?" Dean looked from me to Dad. "Are you sayin' that she's… that…"

"She didn't sell her soul, Dean," Dad said gently.

"She didn't?" Dean frowned. "What the hell else is there?"

"Me," I said softly.

Dean looked at me and I couldn't read the expression on his face. "You?" Then he turned back to Dad, the color draining from his skin and his voice filled with disbelief. Dean would probably have a hard time hearing anything that suggested Mom may have been less than perfect. "Mom _sold_ Sam?"

Dad sighed. "You can't sell someone else. But… if you're a parent or guardian, you can sell influence. She didn't know she was doin' it at the time, though, or she never would have made the deal."

"But why, Dad? Why would Mom make a deal in the first damn place?"

"For me."

"For you?"

"From what I can recall, he possessed your grandfather, Mary's father. Mary and I were together and her father comes out of nowhere and grabs me. I remember thinking how strong his grip was, and his eyes were yellow. And he had a knife sticking out of him, right in his damn liver. Everything happened so quickly. Next thing I know, I'm on the ground, my head in Mary's lap, and she's cryin'. Her mother was found dead in their house a little later when the police went to notify her. It was ruled a murder suicide. The cops thought her father was coming for her next but changed his mind when he realized I was with her."

"You didn't suspect that something was off," I blurted. I couldn't imagine my father being so clueless.

"Of course I did but your mother was a hunter. I never knew anything about it when she was alive. I think she just wanted a normal life and that's why she… that's why she wanted to marry me even though her father didn't approve. She really should have listened to him, found someone who could have protected her. Who could have at least realized what was goin' on when that son of a bitch showed up wearing her father's body. Back then you couldn't get any more Joe fucking Normal then me. So normal it didn't take much for her to convince me that I didn't see what I saw."

Dean took a slow step towards Dad. "That's why… why you always say what's dead should stay dead, isn't it?"

Dad nodded, his eyes haunted and staring at something no one else could see. "Son of a bitch killed me just to force her to make the deal. Everything else was gone. Her mother, her father. I was the only thing she could get back. Desperation can make people do horrible things." Dean put his hand on Dad's shoulder, giving comfort.

I cleared my throat and looked away."So… you said she sold influence? What exactly does that mean?"

Dad took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was beating around the bush and that was completely unlike him. Dad hid things, sure, but when he told you the truth, he just told it bluntly and completely. It didn't matter if it stung or if you didn't like it. If he was stalling, it had to be bad. "He fed you… he fed you some of his blood, Sam."

"What?" Dean responded first, looking from Dad to me then back again.

It took me a couple seconds before I could put together anything resembling a coherent sentence. When I finally did, it was probably the absolute wrong thing to say. "Excuse me, I don't think I heard you right. He _what_?"

"He gave you demon blood."

"You son of a bitch!"

Dean's head whipped around and he stared at me in wide-eyed disbelief. "Sam!"

"Boy, watch your tongue. You might have an inch or two on me, but I will still take you over my damn knee."

I knew that I should try to calm the situation down, try to talk about this rationally, but how the hell does he justify hiding something like this from me my entire life? I did make an attempt to reign in my temper, though, because Dad didn't make idle threats. I had no illusions that I would be able to stop him if he did decide to spank me and wouldn't that just be as embarrasing as hell. "I just can't understand why you didn't think that I should know that I have some bastard demon's blood in me."

"And what exactly would you have done with the knowledge, Sam? How would that have made your life any easier? You were always the kid dying to be normal, to be just like everybody else. I couldn't give you that, and you wanted me to tell ya _that_ on top of everything else?"

"You had no right to keep that from me!"

"I had no right? I had no _right_? I'm the guy who had to figure out how to keep you safe even when you constantly insisted on putting yourself in harm's way. Do you have any idea the things I've done just to keep your selfish, ungrateful ass alive, boy? I had every damn right!"

"If I'm so selfish and ungrateful, maybe you shouldn't have bothered." I regretted it the minute the words were out of my mouth. Eventually it came to that when Dad and I argued. I said something that I'd give anything to take back, but was too stubborn to apologize for.

Dad took half a step forward and stopped. He let out a bitter laugh as he turned away from me and ran his fingers through his hair. He moved his shoulders in a gesture that I'd never seen him make before. It looked like he was letting something go, surrendering. "I used to have so many dreams for you and Dean. Proms, graduations, successful careers, wives, children. Not this. Never this. Then your mother died and the only hope I had left was that you'd both live through another day. That I could be good enough, strong enough to keep you safe until you could keep yourselves safe. The day you told me about Stanford, I panicked. I just kept thinking that you'd be in one place too long, that the son of a bitch would find you and I'd lose you. I used to go to the campus and spend a day or two just watching you. Checking for sulfur. We never talked about it but I know Dean did to. Fuck, Sam."

"You could have told me the truth then," I said, my voice softer, almost pleading. My anger was gone and now I was just scared. I had fucking _demon blood_. I was officially a freak.

"And you would have believed me?" Okay. So he had a point there. I probably would have just thought he was making it up to keep me from leaving.

"Sam."

I looked at Dean, the sound of his voice cutting through my thoughts. I could see what he wanted. He wanted me to come clean. I begged him silently not to make me. His eyes said that he wouldn't, but that he'd be damned disappointed if I didn't tell my own secrets. Dad had noticed, realized that we were hiding something of our own. The man knew us both too well. He was the only one that ever came close to being able to interpret our wordless conversations.

"What," Dad finally asked, his voice gruff.

I took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. The man was like a dog with a bone. Now that he knew we were hiding something, he wouldn't rest until he knew what it was. Just like he'd gone through our room and found my journal. "I've been having visions."

"Visions. What kind of visions?"

"Death visions. I see how people are gonna die. Sometimes I can stop them and sometimes…" I shrugged and looked away. I hated admitting my failure to my father almost as much as I hated confirming that I was a freak.

"You've been having precognitive visions and somehow you didn't think you should tell me?"

I gave my father a tight smile. "Hello pot, I'm kettle. Nice to meet you."

Dad huffed out an unamused laugh. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"'Cause… I had no idea you already knew I was a freak."

"Sammy… Son. You're not a freak." He stepped forward and I involuntarily took a step back. "What," he asked, obviously confused by me keeping distance between us.

"If it's supernatural kill it, right Dad?"

"You're not supernatural, Sam."

"I can see the future. And there's the telekinesis."

"Telekinesis?"

I nodded still avoiding his eyes. "But I only moved something once."

John nodded. "You're still not supernatural."

"What is it, Dad." It was Dean this time, watching Dad's face closely.

"All the others… all the other kids that Yellow Eyes did this to went dark after they discovered their powers. I only found one exception. But even he abuses it."

"All the others? You mean there are more?"

"Yes. There are more. The ones that haven't figured out that they're different are going about their lives as normal. But they didn't have it as rough as the others. I think that has something to do with it. Where you angry or scared when you used the telekinesis, Sammy?"

I looked at my father and swallowed hard. I nodded, thinking better of using my voice.

Dad huffed out a laugh. When he spoke again he sounded like his thoughts were a thousand miles away, like he was a scientist studying some fascinating occurrence. "I always thought there was a connection to strong negative emotions, mostly fear and anger. But these visions. I never saw that one. What the hell's the point of it? What do you do when you get one?"

I shrugged. "Usually try to get there as soon as possible, try to stop it."

"Without researchin'? Without tryin' to figure out what you're rushin' into?"

"Dad, I see people _die_. I thought the whole point of what we do was to save people."

"Yeah. But trustin' somthin' you don't understand might not be exactly the best way to go about it."

"So, we just let people die?"

"No. We send someone else. Shake things up. See what happens."

"If you want to figure out how deep the water is," Dean offered, "throw a stone in it."

Dad looked at Dean in approval. "That's right. Unexpectedly introduce a foreign element and see what happens."

"So you think… you think he's been using the visions to manipulating us?"

"It's a possibility. I'd like to make sure that he's not before we trust 'em."

Dean closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "Damn. I didn't even think of that. 'M sorry."

"What the hell do you have to be sorry for, Dean," I asked in exasperation. "I'm a big boy, I made my own decisions. You're not my keeper."

"Actually, he is," Dad said. "And you're his. Whenever you go into battle with someone, you're responsible for their safety. So you should be sorry too boy. 'Cause you dragged your brother into danger right along with you."

I flinched at that and just stared at him. "It wasn't… I didn't think…"

"That's exactly the problem, boy. When you get all worked up, you don't think. You just act. We need to make sure that this son of a bitch isn't usin' that against you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry too. Still not sure that I shoulda told you everything, but I coulda handled things better. Just remember what I taught you. When you make a mistake, don't waste your time on sorry. Make it right where you can, and where you can't learn from it. In the mornin', we'll go over everything Bobby and I learned about Azazel. Get some sleep boys."

* * *

"Sammy. Thought I told you to get some sleep."

I didn't look when I heard my father's voice. Or when I felt the old beat up Ford I was stretched out on dip under his weight, or when I felt his side pressed against mine. I couldn't handle facing Dad right now. The more I thought about it, the dirtier I felt. The whole reason I came outside was to avoid him, avoid the disgust I knew I'd find in his eyes. So I just kept staring at the stars. "I wanted to be alone."

"Yeah, well, we don't always get what we want, do we Greta?"

I snorted out a laugh despite myself. "Is that why you treat me different then Dean? 'Cause I have demon blood in me?"

"Boy, I treat you different then Dean 'cause you're a different person. That has nothing to do with Yellow Eyes. I'm no less proud of you then I am of Dean. I love you just as much as I love him. Didn't think that was possible when he was born, until you were."

"But I know I disappointed you. All I wanted was to be normal. I never wanted to hunt like Dean."

"You didn't disappoint me. I was _scared_ for you. And I felt like a failure because I couldn't give you what you wanted the way I could with your brother. But with that son of a bitch breathin' down our necks, I couldn't allow it. It was just easier for Dean. We were all he needed and he learned how to settle for that."

"He needed more."

"No. There's a difference between want and need. I've spent the past twenty some odd years learnin' it. I want your mother back. I want a place to settle down, to just sit and rest. I want to go through an entire day without worrying about what type of danger my boys are in. But I _need_ you and Dean. I _need_ to end that Yellow Eyed bastard before he takes more from us then he already has."

"This is all my fault, isn't it?"

"You think the rape was Dean's fault?"

I sat up and stared down at him. His face was open, honest. He looked tired too and I wondered if he always looked that tired and I'd just missed it. I felt a sudden wave of compassion when I considered how all the secrets he'd been keeping must have weighed on him, how he probably agonized over every decision. The only thing I recognized about the look he was giving me was the intensity of his eyes. They could still bore a hole through steel. "No, of course not!"

"Then what's been done to you isn't your fault either. You have to see the parallels. You didn't sign up for this. None of us did. But we gotta do what needs doin' or we lose everything."

I huffed out a frustrated breath. "I'm _tainted_ Dad. And if I go dark you'll have to kill me."

Something dark flashed across his face and was gone in an instant, replaced by a familiar look of stubbornness as he rose up on his elbows. "You're not tainted and that son of a bitch can't have you." Dad sat up and wrapped his arms around me. "You're mine. _Ours_. He'll have to come through both of us first. He'll think Hell was a fucking cake walk when we get through with him."

I pressed my face into his neck and let his rumbling voice and the finger tips rubbing circles on my scalp at the back of my head sooth me. It was almost obscene how safe I felt despite everything. Maybe because of everything. Dad. Dean. Family. Maybe I'd learned a few things about the difference between want and need myself. Because even though I may want my father to change, may occasionally want to strangle the man, and couldn't stand to be in the room with him for more than ten minutes without arguing with him about _something_, I still needed him as much as I needed Dean. And wasn't that just seven different kinds of fucked up. I couldn't live with it if I got either – or God forbid _both_ – of them killed. "But you'll kill me if I go darkside? Promise me Dad."

He was silent and his arms pulled me almost imperceptibly closer to him. "I know I should, but I don't know if I can, Sammy. I can put down anybody on this earth, but you and Dean? I just don't know."

Dad's voice had an odd quiver and I knew he was crying. I gripped handfuls of his over shirt as I felt something inside me break. "You might have to."

"I know that too," he said softly, his voice filled with sadness.

* * *

_A/N: I know that was fast. I wrote most of this at the same time as the last one. It was all intertwined and took a while to separate. Anyway, I hope you all like it!_

_I'm glad you like it, __**NongPradu**__. And thanks so much for the heads up. Anytime you catch something like that just let me know._

_Glad your still with me __**deangirl1**__. I love that phrase… thrown from pillar to post. It just sounds so dramatic. I really have to find somewhere to use it. At any rate if you can count on John for anything (other than being totally obsessive about protecting his boys) it's research. As for Sam, when the boy gets it right he usually hits it right out of the park. Poor kid's all or nothing. I don't think the story will let me rush it. LOL._

_I hope you liked the reveal and the fall out, __**babyreaper**__._

_I'm glad you love it __**EtainAnigeal**__. I tend to focus more on the effect of events on the characters then the events themselves. Sometimes it works a lot better than at others. I think that approach really suits this story._

_Hi __**Ashley**__. Glad you love it, hope you enjoyed this update._

_Yep, __**riquitv**__. John's spillin' it all. He's sort of all or nothin' too. Dean keeps saying he and Sammy are alike._

_I'm happy you thought I kept them all in character, __**stndabvthcrwd1**__! Hope you enjoyed John's explanation._

_That's the one thing that always disappointed me, __**redgriffin7**__. Not nearly enough John! But he still lives in my mind. Glad to be your source for a John fix._

_Sam's definitely too stubborn for his own good, __**LuckyMe1**__, and it does make him a great protector__**.**__ But just like with everyone else, the thing that makes you want to hug someone is usually also the thing that makes you want to bludgeon them to within an inch of their lives. Like now on the show… I'm really starting to want to beat Sam about the head and shoulders with a really heavy object. I haven't felt that way since he stopped belittling Dean every five minutes in the first season. Don't get me wrong, I still love the boy and all, but gee whiz!_

_-Angie_


	11. Scapegoat

**Scapegoat**

I watched Sammy and Dad from the porch. It was usually my first reaction to comfort the kid when he was upset, especially this upset, but I just wasn't sure I had it in my anymore. I also had to admit that it was probably better for Dad to be the one to take the chick-flick bullet this time around. Sam always thought Dad disapproved of him, always felt like he was the odd man out and just went with it. I mean, how much further away from the way we lived could you get than being a lawyer? I really don't get how he can't see how much alike he and Dad are. Although, I guess you could say that he'd done exactly what Mom had obviously done years before with equally awesome results.

I just couldn't wrap my mind around what Dad told us. Mom had been a hunter. She had known what was in the dark and had tried to ignore it, hadn't even tried to warn Dad about what was really going on. I understood the impulse. I felt it too sometimes, but I'd never had much tolerance for people who buried their heads in the sand. The knowledge that my mother had been one of those people, that she had walked away from the deaths of her parents and spent over ten years pretending that she wouldn't have to give the devil his due… I just wasn't sure what to do with that.

I understand Dad a lot better, though, even if my understanding of Mom was all shot to hell now. He felt responsible for everything. What happened to her, what happened to Sam. Dad had been the leverage that Yellow Eyes had used to get what he wanted. The only thing that could possibly be worse than watching your wife die the way Mom did had to be feeling like it was all your fault. And Dad had always taught us that if you screw something up, it was your responsibility to fix it. I couldn't imagine having that kind of weight on your shoulders, baring it alone for so many years.

I went back inside after a few minutes. I was barely through the door before Bobby was suddenly there, shoving a cooler at me.

"Here's some beer. Get your ass out there with your people."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Dude, you have got the worst people skills I've ever seen." And that was saying a lot considering that I was raised by John Winchester and wasn't exactly Miss Manners myself.

He scowled. "Just get!"

I rolled my eyes as I took the cooler and carried it outside. I felt a little like I was intruding and I walked as loudly as I could so that they would know I was there. Sam pulled away from Dad and ducked his head while Dad turned to face me.

"What you got there, Dean-o?"

"Just some beer. Bobby thought you two might need one or five."

"Is that so? Well, get up here and pass 'em around."

* * *

I poked my head out of the kitchen just in time to see Sam heading for Bobby's library.

"Sammy, don't go in there. Dad's doin' his thing."

He huffed out a breath and held my eyes defiantly for a second. I don't know why the kid always wanted to bug Dad when he was preoccupied. That's how at least half their fights started. He finally moved away from the door and joined me in the kitchen. "You mean Bobby actually let him tack things to his walls?"

"After half an hour of arguin' about it, and Dad promising to fix any damage later." I began dividing the pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon I made into four plates.

"I swear they're like an old married couple."

"I know. So… you okay?" I began drinching my own stack of pancakes with syrup. I always like to let them sit for a few minutes, soak up all the syrup. I paused then shrugged before drizzling a little syrup on my eggs and bacon.

Sam shrugged. "Okay as someone with demon blood can be."

"Well, you're still the same pain in the ass little brother you always were," I said, absently licking a drop of syrup off my thumb. "Maybe he didn't give you enough."

"Dude! Will you stop with the jokes? I could turn evil at any moment."

"Evil? You? The guy who cried during Bambi? Evil must really be lowering its standards."

"This isn't funny, Dean."

"The idea of you going all darkside is pretty funny, Sammy. At least from where I sit."

"It's Sam."

"Whatever Sammy. And even if you aren't too much of punk, Dad and I would never let you become some demonic bitch or overlord or whatever the hell they have in mind."

"You can be such a jerk sometimes. What the hell is it with you and Dad? You can't protect me from everything!"

I threw up my arms in frustration. Patience was never my strong suit. "Well, you tell me Sammy. What the hell is it you expect us to do? Put a bullet in your brain and then go out for coffee?"

"I want you to stop pretending that I'm not a freak!"

"Of course you're a freak. In fact there were a few times I was tempted to sell your unnaturally ginormous ass to science. Would've too, if I thought Dad would let me. But unless being a freakishly large emo bitch is a result of demon blood, I don't think Yellow Eyes has anything to do with that."

"Dean… can you just please take this seriously for a minute? I'm scared here, okay? What if I can't control what's in me? What if no one can?"

I began putting the empty pans in the sink with a sigh. Why the hell did Sam always have poke at fresh wounds until they bled again? "I know you are. We all are. But what the hell is sitting around bein' scared gonna do for us, Sam?"

"I… I don't know. I just… I just feel like I can't breathe, Dean. Like the walls are closin' in on me and I just want to scream. What am I supposed to do Dean? Tell me what I'm supposed to do." The kid sounded like he was six years old again.

"I know what it's like to… to have something happen to you that you can't control. To feel like you're gonna go crazy 'cause it's all just so fucking big that there's no way in hell you're gonna be able to deal. You just… you can't give up Sam. Okay? You just can't give up. We will find a way to beat this thing, find a way to beat Yellow Eyes."

Sam nodded, his movements a little jerky. "So what, uh, what's Dad lookin' at?"

"Tryin' to find a pattern to your visions." I put considerably less syrup on Dad's stack of pancakes then I had my own. Dad didn't like a lot on his.

"How long's he been at it?"

"Since just after dawn. I'm about to take him breakfast. Have a seat." I unceremoniously pushed him into the nearest chair and put a plate in front of him. "Eat somethin'. I'll be right back."

I found Dad staring at a section of the wall, fingernails of his right hand slowly dragging back and forth through three day old growth on his chin. I wish I could understand his process. I don't think anyone can, not even Sam. The man could find connections between events that baffled everyone else. And he was always right. Which sometimes got to be a little annoying.

"Dean," he said without turning to look at me. "Come here and look at this."

I sat his plate down on the desk and went to stand next to him. "Sir?"

"The portents in those towns Sammy's dreams led you to are completely different than the ones that follow Yellow Eyes. Fact, they're easy to miss if nobody's lookin'. I went back further, cross referenced the occurrences. There are intersections between whoever this demon is and Yellow Eyes. They keep poppin' up in the same places, but every time you and Sammy end up somewhere, I'm somewhere bein' distracted by the bastard. Usually on the other damn side of the country."

"Distracted? You mean… like he's trying to keep us apart?"

"Yeah. Son of a bitch knew I wouldn't want to drag you two into it when I was goin' after him, counted on you not bein' able to reach me when you two were off tryin' to stop what Sam was seein' in his visions. And even if you could've reached me, I would've been too damn far away to be of any use. God how could I be so stupid. He's been playin' with us from the start."

I always hated it when my father started beating up on himself for not catching everything, every time. "Dad, you see it now. Maybe we can use it to our advantage."

Dad smiled at me and ruffled my hair. I rolled my eyes as I ducked away. What was I? Six? "Dude! Watch the hair!"

Dad snorted before turning back to the wall, his smile gone again. "We've got to find a way to kill this son of a bitch, Dean. I don't mean send him to Hell, I mean _end_ him once and for all. Sammy will never be safe if we can't find a way to do that."

I looked at my father, eyebrow raised. "We? You mean you're actually gonna take us with you this time? No more of that Lone Ranger shit?"

Dad's face contorted into an overdone wounded look. "Son, I'm shocked at you. Shocked! Next you'll claim that I'm a stubborn son of a bitch."

I snorted. "Dude! I'd never disrespect my own grandmother like that." I laughed when he elbowed me. "Eat your food before it gets cold old man," I ordered as I headed for the door. Because it wasn't unlike him to get so caught up in his research that he forgot to eat even when the food was right in front of him.

"Old… I'll give you old," he muttered as his attention returned to the wall. "And Dean?" I paused with my hand on the door knob to look back at him. "At oh ten hundred, I want you and your brother to come in here. I still have a lot to tell you."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Dad had just finished going through the details of how he'd tracked Yellow Eyes and the other 'gifted' children, and how he'd come across the name Azazel, which may or may not be the demon's name. Bobby had spent the past four days digging up information on the son of a bitch and had finally had some real progress the night before.

"'S far as I can tell," Bobby started, "Azazel was a Middle Eastern jinni that haunted the desert. It is believed that the Hebrew practice of offering the scapegoat every year was actually an offering to Azazel. He was considered one of the original fallen, the source of all impurity, so the scapegoat was thought be a way to return sin and all its consequences to their source. Another account says that he was the leader of the giants before the flood."

"So," Dad said slowly, his brow furrowed, "you stayed up all night researchin' and came up with a goat as a solution?"

"Hell, most of this you can find on Wikipedia. The trick was verifyin' it with ancient sources. The goat looks to be a temporary solution at least. He's bound by rules just like every other demon. If this is one of 'em, it'll give you three a year to figure out somethin' permanent."

Dad rubbed his eyes in silence for a second. "A goat?"

"What're we supposed to do, Bobby?" Sam spoke up, looking just as incredulous as Dad. "Just walk up to him and hand him a goat?"

Bobby snorted. "There's a whole ritual involved."

I couldn't take it anymore. Because it couldn't be that simple. "Are we really… are we actually _considerin'_ this?"

"I'll consider anything at this point."

I looked at my father in disbelief. That was usually my line. "And how the hell will we know if it works?"

He gave me a strange look because I didn't usually question him in front of other people, not even Sammy, but I couldn't keep the words from slipping out. "Same way we learn if anything works that we've never done before. Try it and see."

Try it and see. That was the first real indication I had of just how well and truly fucked we were. I grunted. "Awesome. Where the hell are we supposed to get a goat?"

* * *

The more I think about it the more convinced I am of what I have to do. It's not something I _want_ to do. I want more than almost anything to just ignore it, but I feel like I left part of me back in that alley. Like the pieces of my life don't fit anymore because some of them are missing. The old me never would have left that town while those bastards were still breathing. All I wanted was to get away and forget. But I can't forget. I'll never forget. So I have to find a way to live with it. Now I understand that for me to be any damn good to Dad or Sammy, I have to get that part of me back. It took learning about Mom to make me see that.

Yellow Eye's had ripped her life apart just as completely as mine had been and she'd done exactly the same thing. Gotten as far away as fast as possible. Tried to forget. But the devil always gets his due. Unless, of course, you get him first. I've been going over plans all day. I'd often fantasized about revenge, but those weren't real plans, nothing I could actually pull off and get away with. Nothing realistic or concrete. I didn't need fancy, or even poetic, just quick and clean. I had to finish before Sam and Dad caught up with me. I could outdrive the truck, stretch the five to seven hour head start I'd have to maybe six to nine. And on the way I could refine my plan.

I'm not stupid. I know the difference between killing something supernatural and killing a human being. I was a killer by nature though, and I knew how to do it without hesitation, with second guessing when necessary. I _had_done it before because it had been necessary. But this was a whole new ball of wax. This wasn't going to be something heat of the moment, or done to defend myself or my family or some innocent person. This was going to be cold blooded, premeditated murder. I wonder if I'd have to balls to go to the police if I could, if the FBI didn't think I was a supposedly dead serial killer. I don't know, but does it matter? It's not an option. I doubt I could get immunity for several murder one charges for testifying against a bunch of skanky rapist. So there was only one way to deal with them, one way to make sure they never did to anyone else what they'd done to me and get back the parts of myself they'd taken.

I moved my car, telling Dad that I wanted to change the oil so I was moving it to the garage. Really, it was several blocks away so that no would wake up when I started the engine. Dad gave me a look, than grunted. That was a relief, because he was even better than Sam at catching me in a lie. Sam was still too upset over the whole demon blood thing to really pay attention. My bag being packed was no big deal since Dad had trained us to keep our stuff packed at all times, just in case. Then I waited for everyone to go to bed for the night. I only had one last obstacle.

"Bobby," I called, my voice barely above a whisper. "You ever actually sleep?"

The older man stepped out of the shadows of his living room, from where he'd watched me sneak down the stairs. "Not much. What do ya think you're doin', boy?"

"There's somethin' I need to finish."

"Just tell me this has nothin' to do with Yellow Eyes."

I snorted. "Nope. Got my own demons to deal with before I can deal with Mom's."

"I take it John and Sam don't know you're sneakin' out in the dead o' night."

"No. I'm sure they'll pitch fits when they figure it out. But I have to do this on my own. I don't want to cause you trouble with Dad."

Bobby snorted. "I can handle him. You know you can talk to me if you need to?"

I smiled at him, a genuine smile. "Yeah, I know that Bobby. Thanks. But I'm all talked out right now."

"You just make sure you watch your back out there."

I just nodded and left the house. The truth was I was terrified. I hadn't been out on my own since the rape and the idea of having no one to back me up was scarier than it had any right to be. But I had to do this if I was ever going to get my life back, because a hunter that was afraid to go out in the dark by himself was no damn use to anyone.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to all my readers! I really love sharing this story with all of you. It just keeps on evolving and I hope you are all still enjoying the ride._

_Thanks __**stndabvthecrwd1**__. There was never enough John! This is the way I've always seen him, which is why the John hate that I see so often just baffles me. Even when he did something that was obviously out of love (like apologizing for the Stanford argument, or selling himself for Dean) people managed to twist it into something else or ignore it altogether just to hold on to their vision of an abusive, mean drunk that was nowhere in evidence on the actual show._

_Thanks for the review, __**LelaRo**__. I think it's totally in character for Sammy to say that in the conversation. He was the one who always brought it up to Dean, always tried to get Dean to promise to kill him if he turned evil. While John may have been thinking about it, he'd never actually voice it unless he felt he had no choice. And he'd definitely never say it to Sam. But he knows it may be necessary one day, even though he's not sure he could actually do it._

_It really is about all three of them, __**NongPradu**__. One of them gets cut, the other two bleed. There's plenty of nastiness and pain on the way. My muse is so mean…_

_Thanks for reviewing, __**redgriffin7**__. The why I see it, they're all victims. I'm really glad you're enjoying the ride._

_Yeah, __**requitv**__. I think we all get what we want and what we need a little twisted sometimes and it makes us more unhappy then we need to be. I figure there had to be times when John comforted Sam. I mean, Dean couldn't always be there. He was in school four years before Sam went. And you can't convince me that a four year old took care of all the needs of a six month old. I have nieces and nephews, some of whom are very attached to each other, but no matter how smart they are they weren't capable of totally taking care of each other._

_Hi __**DeanBeanWinchester**__! Makes you just want to give them all a big hug, doesn't it?_

_Thank you __**greendaypumpkin**__! While Dean is still at the center of this story, the last two chapters were also about how Sam views John especially in the context of their relationship with Dean._

_Welcome to my dark and twisted world, __**irishgirl9**__. I'm glad you're enjoying it so far._

_Welcome __**spnMom**__! No, this story isn't over. I'm really honored that you'd be interested enough to read my story at 4:23 in the morning._

_Thanks __**Yammy**__!_

_Welcome, __**PhinnieLin**__! I always like it when I can draw someone in that doesn't normally enjoy this type of story. I hope you continue to enjoy the fruits of my twisted imagination._


	12. Missing

**Missing**

It took a while for us to realize that Dean was gone. It had been years since he'd outright lied to me, so when he was nowhere to be found inside the house I assumed that he was out in the garage working on the Impala. An oil change didn't take that long, but God knew that either one of us could find countless other ways to tinker with that car if we had the time and a cooler of beer. We weren't on a hunt, so I was patient at first.

"Dad, why are Dean's clothes gone?"

I looked up from my journal, coffee cup frozen half way between the table an my mouth, and saw wide green eyes staring at me from behind a mop of brown hair. Damn kid needed a cut, but I refused to point that out because I knew it wouldn't do any good. He was out of breath from running down the stairs. "What?"

"His bag and all his things are _gone_!"

And that's when I realized that Dean had snowed me. He wouldn't take his clothes with him if he was just in the garage with the goddamned car. Without answering Sam, who looked about an inch away from complete panic, I went straight outside and found the garage empty. I couldn't quite come to grips with the fact that Dean had lied to me. I'd expect it from Sam under certain circumstances, but not _Dean_. We told each other the truth, dammit. I nearly ran back to the house, because if he wasn't here, there was only one other place that he would go. And that thought, the idea that he would go back to that town after those bastards who raped him, scared the hell out of me.

"Sam, be in the truck and ready to go in five minutes," I barked before I even got completely through the door. I was grateful that for once the kid didn't argue. He just nodded and took off to get his things from their room. I kept going and walked into Bobby's office without knocking. "How long, Bobby?"

The expression on his face as he looked up from the books he was buried in would have been funny if I was even remotely in the mood to laugh. "What the hell, John?"

I wasn't buying his innocent act. Very few things happened under Bobby's roof that he didn't know about. "How long's my boy been gone?"

"He left last night about an hour after you went to bed."

Fuck. That was damn near ten hours ago. I rubbed my face with my hands. "Why the hell did you let him leave?"

"You ever try to stop Dean from doin' somethin' he was set to do?"

I huffed out a breath. He had a point there. Dean on a mission was a damn force of nature. "You could have told me."

"I could have. And you're probably the only person on earth coulda stopped him. But if it was that important to him that he'd sneak off in the dead o' night knowin' that you'd react like this, then it felt wrong for me to disrespect him like that. Maybe I was wrong. I pray I wasn't, but that was my decision."

I huffed out a breath as I heard Sam on the stairs. If I had more time, I'd probably wring Bobby's neck. "Well, you _were_ wrong. If anything happens to him, I swear to god Bobby you sure as hell don't want to see me again."

He nodded his head. "If anything happens to him 'cause of me, then I guess I'll have earned it."

I gave him a sharp nod. "I guess so."

I ignored Sam's curious gaze as I walked past him to retrieve my own bag. I didn't turn to check to see if he was behind me as I left the house, but I could hear him scrambling to keep up. Every muscle in my body was so tense that I was aching before we got ten miles away from Bobby's.

"How much of a head start do you think he's got on us?"

I snorted. "At least ten hours. With the Impala make that twelve. Serves me right for givin' it to him. I wanted to make sure that he could outrun just about anything he needed to. Just never counted on that includin' the truck."

"But he can handle himself, right? I mean, if anyone could pull this off its Dean."

I was relieved to know for sure that Sam had come to the same conclusions that I had, that he knew his brother well enough to know that there was only one reason that he'd leave like this. "Ever kill a man, son?"

"No sir."

"It ain't like killin' somethin' that's not human, but sometimes you gotta do it to save yourself or someone else. What your brother's gone to do, though." I paused and shook my head. "I don't blame him one damn bit, but it's still murder and it will change him. Then there's the fact that the kid's not thinking straight."

"He's gonna be alright, isn't he Dad?"

I glanced at Sam. He looked scared to death. He was right, though. If anyone could pull this off alone, it was Dean. But I couldn't shake the fear that he'd choke at the wrong time and put himself in danger. Then there was the question of what he'd become if he succeeded. Acid was churning in my gut. "I hope so, son. I hope so."

* * *

"Bathroom break, Sammy?"

The boy jerked his head around as if I'd just pulled him out of some deep train of thought. He'd been fidgeting in the seat and I smirked at the memories it brought up. I half expected him to say he'd wait until we got into town, but instead he nodded.

"Yes sir."

I wanted to ask him why he was being so respectful all of a sudden, but I really didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. I assumed that it was just his worry over his brother. Maybe he just didn't have the energy to be a pain in the ass right now. "Okay. I might as well fuel up now since we're stoppin'. Ten minutes."

I waited in the car for five extra minutes before I started to worry. Sam wouldn't dawdle with Dean's life on the line. I went to the restroom to find it empty. Ten minutes of methodically checking the area with no luck finally had me in a near panic. There were no signs of violence, no drag marks. Not a damn clue what the hell had happened to my baby boy. It took me a full minute to get my brain working well enough to call Bobby.

"Is Dean alright?"

I closed my eyes and forced myself to calm down. "I don't know. We're a couple hours outside of the town. But Sam…."

"What about him?"

"He's gone, Bobby."

"What do ya mean 'gone?'"

"I mean the boy's fucking missing!" I paused, closed my eyes again and took a deep breath. Panic was pulling at me, sharp and insistent. I had just lost both my sons in less than forty eight hours and had no fucking clue how the hell I was going to save them both, or if I could even save one. "What the fuck am I supposed to do, Bobby? I can't just leave before I figure out what happened to Sammy, and I can't just stay here while Dean's in danger. Fuck!"

"I know Ellen's the last person you want to ask for help, but you're not far from the Roadhouse. Maybe she can find someone to take over the search for Sam while you go after Dean. I'll be there in a day and a half, and you and Dean can join us when you find him."

I forced myself to breath, to think it through. I couldn't deal with all the gilt that the mention of Ellen brought up right now, so I ignored it. It wasn't a perfect solution. But then how could there be? "Okay, fine. Just make sure they're good and that they haul ass. I can't afford to sit around waiting."

I spent the worst two hours of my life waiting for Gordon Walker to show up. Normally I would have said hell no to help from the man, but I didn't have the luxury of being picky. He was a good hunter. Just far too overzealous and too damn quick by half. Half an hour after meeting the man for the first time, I'd known that if any hunter could figure out about Sammy, he could. And even if he just suspected, he'd probably try to kill the kid anyway. Just in case. Hell, the man'd killed his own sister without so much as a pang of conscience. Granted, she'd been turned into a vampire. But who the hell didn't feel at least a little conflicted about putting down family? No, Walker definitely wasn't someone I wanted anywhere near my youngest.

But there was no sign of Sam in the entire time that he'd been gone. Much as I hated to admit it, I doubted Gordon would manage much beyond picking up a trail before Bobby showed up. Even that was optimistic. My son had been taken, and whatever had done it was good. I called Bobby one last time before leaving Gordon with the task of picking up the search for Sam to ask him to look for portents when he caught up with Gordon. I couldn't ignore the possibility that it was Azazel or his accomplice.

* * *

I hate text messaging, but I knew that there was a better chance of Dean glancing at his screen and seeing enough of one to realize that something was wrong then there was that he'd actually listen to his voicemail. We had a very specific emergency code system. 211 meant I was in trouble, 311 was Dean, 411 was Sammy. I sent the 411 code hoping that Dean would drop whatever he was doing when he found out something was going on with his baby brother. Nearly two hours later he called.

"Dad, please tell me you're not just usin' Sam to get me to call you back."

"He's missing Dean."

There was a short pause. "Missing?"

"We were on our way to you when he just disappeared. I couldn't find a trace of him."

"Where are you? I'll meet you there."

"I'm just entering the city limits."

"You _left_? With Sam in trouble?"

"Bobby and another hunter are trying to catch his trail, and I was every bit as worried about your stubborn ass at the time." I knew that I was snapping at him, but I really couldn't help it. How could he think that I would just forget about him? I always alternated between being amused and annoyed that both boys thought the other was my favorite. Neither one was more special to me… just special in different ways.

He paused again and I wished I could see him, could read his body language. "I'm fine. I just have one last loose end to take care of and I'll meet you at the Clover Inn in half an hour. Room two twelve."

Loose ends. I closed my eyes briefly as a chill ran up my spine. Even though it scared the hell out of me to think that my son had killed at least five men, I couldn't help feeling a perverse sense of pride that he could do it so quickly and while suffering PTSD. How the hell had he pulled it off? "Are you… are you okay?"

He hesitated for a second. "I'm fine Dad," he finally said, his voice sounding thin and strained. My boy wasn't alright. But he was alive. Everything else could be dealt with.

"Be careful, son."

"Always."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I was picking the lock of my son's room. There was really nothing there to indicate that it had been occupied, except the unmade bed. There was a no maid service sign on the doorknob that explained that. So the boy had at least gotten a little bit of rest at some point. Probably one of his thirty minute naps, and I have absolutely no idea how the boy could be so sharp with so little sleep. More encouraging, there was no sign of blood or injury.

I'd been waiting less than ten minutes when Dean arrived. He was holding a small bag and smelled of gasoline. I noticed that there was blood on his clothes and my mouth went dry. I suddenly found myself at a loss as to what to say to my own son. It wasn't really the first time. I didn't always handle the stress of our lives well – of the lives they'd been forced into because of me – and I sometimes said stupid things.

"Are you –"

"'S not mine," he mumbled. I couldn't help noticing how fidgety he was and how he didn't quite meet my eyes.

"Did you get them all?"

He gave a tight nod. "Yessir."

"Okay. I didn't hear the Impala."

"It's in an abandoned barn outside of town. I… borrowed a car once I got here. Left it a few miles down the road."

"Good. I'll take you to it. We need to haul ass and find your brother. But change first. If we get pulled over…"

He nodded again. "Yeah."

Just as he was passing me to get to the bathroom, I grabbed his bicep, stopping him, my fingers digging in probably to deep but I couldn't make myself loosen my grip. I waited until he looked me in the eye. The pained expression in those green eyes made my heart ache. I wondered how long what he'd done here would haunt him, prayed it wouldn't destroy him. The boy had been through so much already, things that would have completely shattered a lesser man. "Don't ever pull a half assed stunt like this again. You scared the hell out of me."

"I know. 'M sorry, Dad."

"No, I'm sorry. It's my job to protect you. Both of you and I've done a pretty shitty job of it."

"None of this is your fault, Dad. Not me, not Sam. Mom should have told you the truth, and what happened to me… you couldn't have stopped it. You got handed a fucked up situation and you never gave up on either of us."

It was my turn to nod as I released his arm. I wish I could be as easy on myself as Dean was. Maybe I didn't give up, but that didn't mean I had actually done any good. "We've got two more hours of driving ahead of us."

_

* * *

_

_A/N: Yes, I know I'm mean. I promise I'll tell you what Dean did in the next chapter. As for what happened to Sammy… well I'll give you a hint, so ignore the next sentence if you don't want to know. What happened to Sam is actually cannon from season two, but everything's been thrown out of whack because of Dean's rape and the reunion of the Winchesters._

_Yeah, **deangirl**, nuts pretty much sums up John and Sam's reactions._

_Poor Dean indeed, **DeanBean**. I hope you like this update._

_I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations **requitv**. By the way, ansiosamente is 'anxiously' in English ;-)_

_I thought the goat thing was funny too when I ran across it in my research, **NongPradu**. I just had to include it._

_Dean's always been too stubborn for his own good, **redgriffin7**._

_I don't know if he'll tell Bobby, **yammy**. Everyone who knows so far found out on their own. I'm not sure I see it coming up in regular conversation. But you never know._

_Here you go **greendaypumpkin**, although you'll have to wait to see what shape Dean's vengeance took._

_Too true, **moira4eku**. I can't see how what Dean did wouldn't affect him. He may not think so, but I think he probably has the best moral compass of all the Winchesters. Which in turn means the strongest conscience. Welcome!_

_Thank you so much **Hell's** **Aphrodite**. I like to think that the characters are driving the story… trying to keep all the reactions and interactions as true to who they are as possible. I'm so glad to hear that you're still enjoying the story, although that might be the wrong word to use._

_It made me nervous too, **stndabvthcrwd1**! LOL._

_-Angie_


	13. Vengeance

**Vengeance**

I wasn't sure if I expected her to still be here or not, but the waitress I'd saved that night was the only person I figured I could trace. If I didn't find her at the bar, I could break into the office, find the employee records. But tracking down all the waitresses who worked here a year ago might take too long. Sometimes turnover in even a small one horse town like this could be high. So yeah, my brilliant plan could all boil down to one person still being here a year later. But she had seemed like a local girl and I could probably find someone that knew her in the diner or the local grocery store.

I was relieved to see her park in the back and head for the service entrance with another girl. She was cute, petit with long auburn hair and hazel eyes. I moved from my hiding place in the shadows. "Hey. Remember me?"

She turned to face me, a small startled smile on her face. When she saw me, her eyes widened and the smile froze. "Oh my God."

"Actually, the name's Dean. I need to talk to you."

One of her coworkers saw us speaking and came over, glancing at me nervously. "Everything okay, Trace?"

She gave a shaky nod. "Yeah. Go ahead. I'll catch up. Dean's just an old friend."

The girl looked reluctant as she turned to leave us alone.

Trace turned back to me and cleared her throat. "I didn't expect to ever see you again. Are you… are you alright?"

I scoffed. "What the hell do you think?"

She looked down. "I'm sorry."

I wasn't in the mood for apologies. "Who were they?"

Her head snapped up. "Why?"

"So I can send them Christmas cards. Now tell me who they are and where I can find them."

"You can't… one of them's the Sheriff's son. Going after them would be suicide."

"So they're local boys? What, they just run roughshod over the town, do whatever or whoever the hell they want?"

"Not exactly. It was a message. My father owns this place. He stopped making his payments, threatened to turn them into the feds for extortion. They were telling him to keep his mouth shut and get with the program. My advice is that you just leave this town and try to forget that you ever came here."

"I tried that. Didn't work so well. So… did they come after you again after that?"

She shook her head. "They went after my little sister. Nobody was there to save her. She was in the hospital for almost two weeks and the rape kit conveniently disappeared. Daddy started making the payments again after that."

I closed my eyes and cursed. "Tell me how I can find the bastards."

"Please don't do this. People have tried to stop them before and they just… they just _disappear_."

"I've gone after worse." I took her hand and squeezed gently, trying to reassure her. Or maybe I was trying to reassure myself. "I can get rid of these guys. Just tell me where I can find them."

She sighed. "Frank Bishop hangs out at Luke's Place. It's a hole in the wall on the east edge of town. Doesn't even have a sign. But you won't be able to miss it. It's painted black with black lights around it."

"Just Bishop? What about the others?"

"Frank likes to keep to himself. The others hang out together in different places, harassing people. But they come when Frank calls."

"He the sheriff's son?"

She shook her head. "No… but he is the favorite."

"Thank you." I started to move away and she grabbed my arm.

"About that night, Dean… I'm sorry. I was scared… but I should have done something to help you. I'm so sorry! If it makes you feel any better, I wish it had been me. Then maybe they wouldn't have…"

"Hey… What were you gonna do? Call the sheriff? Try to fight them off single handedly? Just… just get out of here. Go home. You don't want to be around for what happens next."

I pulled my arm from her hand gently. It was the first time a woman had touched me in over a year and it was doing all kinds of obscene things to me, making it almost as hard for me to think as just being back here in the first place. I stood there, listening to her heels retreating on the concrete, pulling myself together. I walked into the bar and pretended to be a health inspector. It was surprisingly easy to get her father to close for the day. I almost felt guilty about what I was going to do to the place, but at least they had insurance.

I waited for everyone to leave and lock the joint up before breaking in and getting to work. I didn't take long to rig the trap. It was simple. Dad always taught us never to do anything more complicated than necessary. The more complicated a thing was, the more opportunities it had to go sideways. And sideways was something I really wanted to avoid.

Now all I had to do was find Frank Bishop or one of his pals. I checked my phone as I went back to the hotel to change my clothes. A suit was good for playing a health inspector, but it wouldn't work so well for blending in at a hole in the wall bar. I had five missed calls from Dad and twelve from Sammy. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. That kid always was the nervous Nancy of the family. Even Bobby had called me three times. I wonder what Dad and Sam told him. They probably wouldn't have had to say anything. Just their reactions were probably enough to freak him out.

I glanced at my refection in the mirror over the dresser back at the hotel. I'd just taken a short nap and I had to admit that even now I looked good. I used to like the fact that I was pretty. It got me things. Information or a free meal or, more often then I liked to remember, a pretty little waitress willing to bend over for me in the back of the restaurant for a quick dirty fuck. I know Sammy's right, that I never forced anyone or made them believe that I was interested in something that would last longer than the amount of time it would take to get us off, but I couldn't help wondering if any of those girls felt used and cheep and dirty after I was finished scratching my itch. If any of them looked in the mirror afterwards and hated what they saw. Well at least I'd stopped smashing mirrors. I'm sure Sam was grateful for that.

* * *

The bar was crowded and I was an inch away from full on panic mode. All I needed was one of the bastards, and then I could use him as bait for the rest. It would be a nice departure from my normal life to use someone as bait that I didn't love, or even like a little. I finally saw one of them enter and my skin tried to crawl right off my body. I felt like I was going to be sick. Scratch that. I was definitely going to be sick. I rushed to the bathroom and made it just in time to spew the entire contents of my stomach. I swear I saw one of my damn socks in there somewhere. Maybe I couldn't pull this off. If I came unglued just seeing the son of a bitch, how the hell was I going to get this done? If everything went the way I planned then he'd be the only one I'd have to even go near, but I was too much of a pussy to even do that. This couldn't all be for nothing. Ditching Dad and Sam, putting Bobby in the middle, driving for nearly a day straight. I was a Winchester, damn it. Dad would be able to do it. That thought had me straightening up and squaring my shoulders. I wasn't going to shame my father by hiding out in the damn bathroom like some little punk ass bitch.

I went to the sink to rinse out my mouth and splash cold water on my face. I looked up and caught my reflection as I dried my face and for a second I saw a perfect handprint around my neck. The sick fuck sitting at the bar made it when he flipped me on my back and chocked me till he came. I gagged at the sudden memory, but there was nothing left to throw up, not even bile. Fuck, dry heaves hurt like hell. I buried my face in the piece of paper towel I was holding, trying to get myself back under control. After a few moments, I balled up the towel and threw it into the trash.

"Look at what the cat dragged in. Ain't seen that pretty face in a few months of Sundays boy."

Fuck! I hadn't even heard him come in. I willed myself to calm down, reached for the calm I always had when I was hunting. I wasn't helpless. I wasn't beaten into submission and slowly bleeding to death. And he was alone. The most dangerous thing in the room right now was me.

"Where are your friends." I was perversely proud that my voice didn't tremble. I sounded calm, in control.

He chuckled. "What? You want a repeat of last time?"

My stomach did a slow roll. "Maybe."

"See," he said with a knowing smirk. "I knew you loved it. Such a little whore." He was invading my personal space now and I felt myself beginning to panic. "My friends aren't really into guys. They just like to teach little cock teases like you a lesson every now and then."

I had the barrel of my gun pressed into his gut before I even realized I'd reached for it. The urge to just shoot him and be done with it was so strong my entire body was trembling with the effort not to squeeze the trigger.

"Now listen real careful, you sick fuck, because I'd just as soon shoot you and stand here watching you die slow and painful as repeat myself." The bastard turned white as a ghost and that made me feel more in control. He was afraid of me. "We're gonna leave here, nice and easy. We're gonna take my car over to the Silver Dollar. You remember that place, don't ya? You should. You left me in the back of it bleeding to death like a fucking piece of trash."

"What are you gonna do to me?"

"I'm gonna have you call your buddies. I'm suddenly in the mood for a party."

It was far too easy to get him outside and to the car I'd stolen. Considering that I was basically abducting someone at gun point, you'd think at least one person would notice and do something. Bishop had no such luck.

We were halfway to the other bar when he suddenly found his voice again. "What do you think you're gonna do?"

"One more syllable, and I swear to God I will cut out your tongue and stuff it up your ass."

He obviously believed me. I wondered if he had any idea how close to completely losing it I was from being this close to him. I only had one chance to make this work according to plan or this was going to get bloody.

The Silver Dollar was still deserted when we arrived. I took Bishop to the basement and had him cuff himself to a pipe, then cuffed his other hand to a different one so that they were spread far enough apart that he couldn't pick the locks. If the idiot even knew how to do that. The brief physical contact left me feeling like I needed a long hot shower. I wiped my hand on my jeans but the creepy crawly feeling refused to leave.

Now I had one last thing to do before I never had to look at his face again. "All right… time to call your friends. Get them to come down here, to the basement, all together."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"I really don't give a fuck. But if they're not here in the next two hours, I'm gonna spend the rest of the night skinning you alive." I held up my knife so that it gleamed in the dull light. "You'd be surprised how long it takes to die from that."

I held his cell phone while I listened to him spin some story about a private party in the basement with girls and booze. There was a big surprise, so they all had to come in together. I had to admit, he was pretty convincing.

"Good boy," I said as I taped his mouth shut. Hopefully this was the last time I'd have to lay a finger on his skanky ass. "Let's see if your pals show up. In the mean time, I'm gonna give you some quiet time to reflect." It was one of Dad's lines. He'd always make us sit quietly to 'reflect' before spanking us. In some ways it was worse than the spanking. Although I doubt that Bishop will feel the same way. He watched in bewilderment as I salted all the surfaces of the basement, and then fear as I began placing small open containers of gasoline around the small room.

* * *

I was frozen for half a minute, almost too long. I'd rigged the heavy door to slam shut and lock them all in when I pulled the wire, but I was so freaked when they passed me, laughing and joking, that I nearly blew it. I was huddled in the hallway, the wire clutched in my trembling sweating hand, hiding behind a barrel of beer. I needed to make sure that they were all in the room before closing the door, so I needed a line of site. One of them was nearly out the door when I snapped out of my terror enough to pull the damn wire. If it hadn't been heavy enough to push him back into the room as it closed, my plan would have gotten a lot more complicated.

I could hear them yelling and pounding on the steel door as I pushed over the barrels of beer and smashed all the bottles behind the bar. I'd put enough open containers of gasoline down there to blow up a city block. Most people thought it was the gas that was dangerous, but really it was the fumes. So the more fumes that were in the air, the more explosive the area became. Once it was in someone's _lungs_… well, there wasn't any coming back from that after it was ignited. I tried to think about the mechanics of what I was doing, to ignore the yelling that was slowly becoming more panicked from the basement as I took out all my anger on the bar. After what seemed like hours, I was spent. I had splinters in my hands that I couldn't remember getting and the entire bar was saturated with alcohol. It would go up like kindling.

I went outside and pulled a book of matches from my pocket. I struck one and lit the entire book with it. I watched it burn for a second, considered going up with the building, just ending everything all together. But Dad's voice was in my head telling me that suicide was the coward's way out unless you were gonna turn, unless you were a danger to innocent people. I closed my eyes and tossed the match book into the building.

I sat in the car a block and a half away, trying to control the trembling in my hands. I could still hear them screaming in agony, high pitched and toneless. If I'd had anything left in my stomach, I'd've thrown it up all over again. As it was bile burned at the back of my throat and made my eyes water. After a few seconds, I just gave up and let the tears flow. When I heard the sirens, I decided that I'd had enough of a break down for now.

I joined the gawkers that had gathered to look at the raging fire. I still felt a little guilty for destroying the bar, but part of me was glad to see it go. Fire purified. The sheriff was there, looking like he'd been sucker punched. His son. And shit… why didn't I think of that? He'd probably blame Trace's family.

* * *

"I know who killed your son."

The sheriff whirled around and began reaching for his gun. I'd followed him home and snuck up behind him as he leaned against his car, looking tired and defeated. If it weren't for what Trace had told me earlier, I would have felt sorry for him. Nothing was worse then losing family

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." I pressed the barrel of my gun against his temple and he moved his hand away from his.

"What do you want?"

"To confess. I killed your son and his friends."

"You son of a bitch! I'll hunt you down."

"Been there done that." Normally, this would be the part where I'd feel guilty. I'd put on a stoic face and apologize while my gut tied itself into knots. Instead, there was a lump of ice in my stomach that just sat there heavy and cold. "You sent them after the family that owned the Silver Dollar. I got caught in the crossfire. You got nobody to blame for what happened but yourself. Was it worth it? Is whatever you've been getting worth knowin' that your kid burned to death nice and slow?"

I couldn't help baiting him. I knew what was going to happen next, wanted it to happen. He made a grab for my gun and tried to wrench it away. We fell to the ground as we struggled for control. Old bastard was strong, I'll give him that. I managed to press it against his chest and squeeze the trigger. He jumped and stared at me in shocked disbelief. I pushed him away from me. His blood was covering my shirt and I had another body to get rid of. The shot had been muffled, but it still sounded loud. I looked around to see if anyone was coming to investigate. Thank god for towns trained not to notice violence. Usually it sucked out loud, but there were times like this when it worked to your advantage.

It took some work to get the sheriff's body into his house. There was no one inside… another piece of luck. So I just salted and burned him. There was no screaming this time, but I still kept hearing the screams from earlier and my hands were shaking. If I was going to fall apart, the least I could do was wait until I was in the hotel room alone. I finally looked at my phone again. There was a text message from Dad. 411. Sammy. My heart started pounding in my chest as I called Dad back.

I didn't have patience to wait for him to speak. The moment I heard the line connect, I started talking. "Dad, please tell me you're not just usin' Sam to get me to call you back."

"He's missing Dean." Dad's voice sounding like he was on the edge of losing it. I'd only seen Dad like that a couple of times and it always scared the hell out of me. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but my mouth was dry.

"Missing?"

"We were on our way to you when he just disappeared. I couldn't find a trace of him."

"Where are you? I'll meet you there."

"I'm just entering the city limits."

He was coming here? Why the hell was he coming here, when Sammy was missing? "You _left_? With Sam in trouble?"

"Bobby and another hunter are trying to catch his trail, and I was every bit as worried about your stubborn ass at the time." His tone was sharp and it made me wince. I was glad he couldn't see me. Did he think that I wouldn't be able to handle this on my own? That I'd punk out?

"I'm fine. I just have one last loose end to take care of and I'll meet you at the Clover Inn in half an hour. Room two twelve."

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end. "Are you… are you okay?" He sounded hopeful, like he needed me to say that I was. Like always I needed to give him what he needed.

"I'm fine Dad."

"Be careful, son." He didn't sound like he believed me. My Dad wasn't a stupid man, and he knew how to read me too well.

I almost laughed at that, because careful wasn't exactly part of my MO for the past two days and Dad would freak when he found out exactly how far I'd gone. "Always."

I hung up the phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found a number I thought I'd never call. "Hello, Agent Hendrickson?" I'd let him know that it was me that did this, and even though everyone will think he's crazy if he tells them that I'm alive and well he'll find a way to keep Trace's family from taking the fall.

* * *

I took the gun I'd killed the sheriff with apart, wiped it clean and put it in a paper bag. I'd scatter it when I got the Impala. I dumped the car I'd stolen a few blocks away from the hotel and walked the rest of the way, my jacket pulled tight around me to hide the blood. I found Dad waiting for me, sitting on the bed facing the door in full alert mode.

"Are you –" He shot up, staring at my shirt. The blood.

"'S not mine." I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. I was ashamed. Ashamed that I felt guilty for what I'd done.

"Did you get them all?"

I nodded. "Yessir."

"Okay. I didn't hear the Impala." I felt a sudden flash of irritation. He was worried about the damn car? I pushed it down. After all, I would be worried about the car too. It was an important consideration. Too recognizable.

"It's in an abandoned barn outside of town. I… borrowed a car once I got here. Left it a few miles down the road."

"Good. I'll take you to it. We need to haul ass and find your brother. But change first. If we get pulled over…"

I looked down at the blood on my shirt and nodded. It would be hard to explain to a cop. "Yeah."

I headed for the bathroom, but Dad grabbed my arm. His fingers were digging a little too deeply into the muscle, but I didn't flinch. I finally looked him in the eye. His face was stone, but his eyes… he was proud of me, I could see it. And he was scared and guilty. "Don't ever pull a half assed stunt like this again. You scared the hell out of me."

"I know. 'M sorry, Dad."

"No, I'm sorry. It's my job to protect you, both of you. And I've done a pretty shitty job of it."

"None of this is your fault, Dad. Not me, not Sam. Mom should have told you the truth, and what happened to me… you couldn't have stopped it. You got handed a fucked up situation and you never gave up on either of us."

He nodded and let me go as he looked away. "We've got two more hours of driving ahead of us."

I nodded and went to take a quick shower.

Less than five minutes later, I was coming out of the bathroom, slightly damp but dressed and ready to hit the road, when I heard Dad's voice."Dean! You _shot_ the sheriff?" It was on the local news already? Wow. That was fast. I would have thought with the fire and everything, it would have taken them a little longer to determine the cause of death.

I shrugged and gave my father a weak smile and a small shrug. "Yeah… but I didn't shoot the deputy." Dad didn't seem amused. Really I was just asking for it. _Begging_for it. I have never been so grateful that he hasn't tried to take me over his knee since I was twelve.

He dropped his head in his hands. "Dear God, give me strength."

"I'm… I'm sorry Dad. It's my fault Sammy's missing, isn't it? If he'd been at Bobby's…"

"Dean! No… none of this is our fault. None of it. We would have left soon anyway. I'm just… I'm grateful that you're here and in one piece." He pulled me into a hug. "We'll get Sammy back. There's nothing we can't do together, right son?"

I nodded as I hugged him back briefly. "Right Dad."

He pulled away and gave me a tight nod. "Now let's go get your brother. And make whatever took him wish it had never been born."

I huffed out a humorless laugh as I followed him out of the hotel room. That definitely sounded like a good plan to me.

* * *

_A/N: Happy belated Mother's Day to all the mothers out there! I've been hanging out with mine, so I haven't had time to write lately. Well, she's more like my adoptive mother – I adopted her after my Mommy died. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!_

_Hey, **NongPradu**! Not sure that I'm not that cruel. Having something bad happen to Dean at that point just seemed too predictable. I can always tell in stories when the poor half mended hero is going to get broken again. I hate being predictable. If I recall correctly, Sammy disappeared more than once during that season. Yeah, John definitely wanted a bit of revenge too._

_Unfortunately **DeanBean**, Dean's gonna have to wait a while to even begin dealing with this._

_I know, **babyreaper**. But when have you ever seen a Winchester do things the easy way? I don't think they know how._

_Yes, **redgriffin7**, I thought it would be a copout to give the rapist some sort of demonic connection. It's much messier this way. And I was just torturing everyone by leaving Dean's version until later._

_I'm glad you felt John's panic, **greendaypumpkin**. That's exactly what I was going for, that moment of abject horror when you lose sight of your small child in a crowded mall and you think you might lose your mind._

_You're welcome, **riquitv**! Hope this meets your expectations._

_Thanks **Yammy1983**!_

_I love it when I'm able to interest someone who doesn't normally go for the type of story I'm writing, **cheeky monkey**. I hope that this new chapter completes your conversion._

_-Angie_


	14. Irreparable

**Irreparable**

It had been a week… a week since I'd last seen my youngest son. Every lead turned into a dead end, and Dean and I were both getting testy with the frustration of long hours, little to no sleep and constant dread. Walker was an added nuisance that we definitely did not need. Dean wasn't a stupid boy. Far from it, and it didn't take him long to see the danger in having Walker around without me needing to utter a word.

"What the hell Dad," he snapped the first day as soon as we were alone in our hotel room.

"I was desperate, Dean."

"That dude's hardcore," he said, careful to keep his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry past the thin walls. "Son of a bitch bragged about killin' his own sister like he deserves some sort of damn medal for it! If he finds out about Sammy-"

"I know that! I can't send him away now without raising anymore questions. Besides, I like having him where I can watch him." I knew I didn't have to tell Dean that sending Walker away wouldn't guarantee the he'd stop looking for Sammy or that he wouldn't be the first to find him. There was no doubt in my mind that Walker's priority wouldn't be on keeping Sam alive. "If he becomes a problem, I'll take care of him."

"You'll take care of him?" Dean frowned at me for a second before his eyes darkened in realization. "You mean you'll kill him."

"If I have to." I'd done worse to keep my boys safe. Dean dropped his gaze and nodded. When he looked at me again, there was so much trust in his eyes that it made me want to escape. Dean's complete and unconditional trust had always scared the shit out of me. What is he gonna do when he realizes that I'm only human. That I fuck up just like everybody else, sometime spectacularly. Like losing my grown ass kid when I was barely a hundred yards away. Why he didn't blame me for that… I just couldn't figure it out.

"Have you… have you done that before? Killed people who might hurt Sammy?"

It was my turn to look away. There were things that I never wanted my sons to know about me, things I'd done that I wasn't exactly proud of that I'd hoped would stay buried forever. "And you. I never wanted you to know what that was like…"

"I know, Dad. But I had to do it myself. They took something from me and I needed to get it back. It had to be me that ended them."

I nodded. "I just hope you can live with it now. It's a heavy burden."

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"Yeah. Well, let's get some shut eye. We'll be no good to Sam if we're half stupid with exhaustion. Just… if the time comes, leave Walker to me."

He didn't answer, just collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes. I didn't press the issue because I knew if I did we'd argue. Dean and I rarely argued, but the kid knew how to show that he wasn't the mindless soldier his brother sometimes painted him as when he wanted to. I sighed and sat on my own bed, pulling off my boots and tossing them at the door before cutting off the light.

"He's a sneaky bastard," Dean was saying, his voice barely loud enough to hear. "He'll probably try to take us out before going after Sammy. If he tries to hurt you, or Sam, and I see an opportunity, I'm taking it. Just like you will."

I tried to ignore the lump in my throat. What the hell had I gotten my boys into? "Agreed."

* * *

Dean had a nightmare that night. Woke up screaming and shaking and crying. I finally calmed him down enough to lie down again.

"I can still hear them. Screaming. God, Dad, they won't stop screaming." I could feel him trembling where he was pressed against my side. "I don't regret it… I just wish I could forget it, wish it could be easier."

"If it were easier you'd be evil, son. You're a good man. Taking human life should be hard."

He swallowed hard and nodded. "Do you think… do you think it was Yellow Eyes?"

I knew he'd changed the subject. "I suspect it was the demon he has working with him. But we'll get him back."

He didn't ask how. Dean never asked how. He just believed. It took about thirty minutes before he fell asleep again. He didn't have any more nightmares that night, but I knew that he'd have them again at some point. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. I understood why he felt he had to take care of the bastards who'd raped him himself, but I still wished that I'd been the one to do it. Dean didn't deserve this burden, not with everything else he had to carry.

* * *

"Son of a bitch!

Sam had been missing for five days, and I'd been tracking the other demon, the one that was working with Azazel to keep me and the boys separate. It was the second day in a row that we got there too late. Witnesses had identified Sam the day before. Identified him as the man who'd killed four people. Just four ordinary people who were minding their own business outside of a nightclub. God only knew what else the demon had made him do. Right now we were in a house looking at the mutilated bodies of a family of four.

"Son of a bitch," I repeated, my voice shaking with rage. Unless I could find a way to predict where the demon was going to take Sammy next, we would just keep following him around to witness whatever carnage the evil motherfucker used my son for. I wondered if Sam watched what the demon did, or if he was so deeply buried in his own head that he had no clue. I hoped for the second, hoped he hadn't seen, hadn't had to _watch_. A shivered, imagining how helpless it would feel to be possessed, to be controlled and used the way Sammy was. This was why I didn't want Dean and Sam involved. Anybody else, I'd just kill. But this was _Sammy_. My baby boy.

"We'll get the sonovabitch, Dad."

I nodded, my jaw clenched so tight that my teeth ached. Yeah, we were going to get it. And Hell help it when we did. "We gotta get the hell outta here before the cops come."

We salted and burned the family, along with the house, in an attempt to erase any sign of Sammy. Besides, that family deserved peace after everything they'd been through.

* * *

On the eighth day, we were reasonably sure that we'd caught up to the demon dragging my kid all over the Midwest, leaving a trail of bodies in its wake. We split up in order to find him quicker, with standing orders not to approach him alone. After four hours of searching, I got a frantic call from Dean. Even if we hadn't been looking for a demon, a frantic call from Dean would have freaked me out. Dean was never frantic without a just cause. All he had a chance to tell me before the line went dead was that he'd found Sammy in some deserted bar. I called right back and got his voicemail. Cursing, I dialed Bobby.

"Did you find 'im?"

"No. Dean did. But his phone went dead before I could get more than the name of a bar out of him. Can you look it up for me?"

* * *

I don't know what to do with what I just walked in on. Dean's bent over the bar, pants pulled down to his knees, Sammy's bent over him, plastered to his back like a lover. The whole world feels like it's tilted the wrong way on its axes and the damn sun's gonna rise in the north. Before I can think of what to say, Sammy looks up at me and gives me his brightest dimpled smile, the one that had gotten rarer as he got older until I would have damn near sold my soul to see it by the time he reached sixteen. But the smile's a little off and that makes it all_ wrong_ like someone trying to impersonate Sammy smiling.

"Hey, look Dean. Daddy's here. Think he wants to watch?" His voice was almost conspiratorial, but pitched loud enough for me to hear from across the room, like a stage whisper. It was my boy's voice, but the cadence was off.

All of a sudden reality catches up to me in a rush. That's not Sam. I couldn't imagine a single thing, not even turning evil, that would ever make Sam purposely hurt Dean. And it only took a glance at Dean to confirm that Sam was hurting him. The tears in his eyes, the way he strained to draw in breath around the hand the thing in Sam's body had around his throat.

"Daddy…" Dean sounded about five years old… that had been about how old he was the last time he'd called me 'Daddy,' before he decided that he was a big boy and too old to use 'baby words.' The word tugged at my gut, threatening to make me loose the tattered focus I'd been clinging to since the day both my sons went missing as I raised my shot gun and aimed it at my youngest.

Sam smirked at me, and it was his smirk but it was every bit as wrong as everything else. Like it was a size too big or too small or something. "Oh, Daddy… what are you gonna do with that? Gonna sacrifice one son to save the other?"

"No," I said simply, my voice hoarse but otherwise steady. Without hesitation or even conscious thought, I squeezed the trigger. The rock salt hit Sam's chest with just enough force to push him away from Dean and knock him flat on his ass. I tried not to think about the fact that I'd just fucking shot my own goddamn son. Dean slid off the bar and curled in on himself on the floor.

The demon in Sam laughed. "Oh, look. I think I broke him. And I didn't even get a chance to sink into that tight little ass yet. Hmmm… you think it's still tight? After all he was gang banged. But that was a while ago."

I gritted my teeth and looked for a way to divert the bastard's attention from Dean. "You're overcompensating. Can't say I blame you. You are just a lapdog. That's really gotta sting, playing go fetch for Azazel."

"You don't know a damn thing about it." The demon got up and brushed off Sam's jeans. "Well, I guess I have to deal with you before I can get down to business with your golden boy. The only question is, do I kill you, or tie you up and let you watch first and _then_ kill you? How about it, Daddy? Wanna watch me finish breaking your perfect little soldier?"

"Actually, I kind of like the third option. The one where I send your sorry ass back to hell."

The demon smirked and lifted up Sam's right arm, revealing a binding symbol branded into the flesh. Shit. "Sorry. There is no third option. Besides, I kind of like this body, you know? It's big and powerful. Not to mention, your boy? Hung like a fucking stallion. I always possess women, never really realized how much fun a big strapping red blooded male would be. Shoulda seen what I did to that little bitch Jo. Shoulda heard poor Sammy in my head, screaming himself hoarse when I let him surface enough to watch… to _feel_. That was fun. I really gotta say… this is livin'." I pursed my lips. There really was something… effeminate about the demon, a kind of odd grace in the way it moved Sam's body. The demon caressed Sam's chest like a woman caressing a lover, which was just fucking weird considering that it was using Sam's own hands to do it. I tried hard to ignore everything it was saying, though. Tried to ignore what it was saying about Jo, about what it had made Sammy do, what it wanted to make Sammy do now to Dean. "Especially when I got someone like Dean-o over there all bent over for me. Quivering and whimpering, like a little slut. Come on, tell the truth Daddy… you couldn't have spent all those hours with a pretty boy like Dean and not at least been tempted."

If the demon had been in anyone other than Sam, I would have killed the host just to shut the damn thing up. There were some things that you could do to a body that not even possession could survive. Like decapitation. I gritted my teeth. This was going to get ugly. Real ugly. "You gonna stand there and flap your gums all day? 'Cause, I really gotta say that the thing I hate most about you demonic bastards is the monologuing. It's just yap-yap-yap all the damn time."

The demon growled and charged me. Yeah, real ugly. And painful.

I was on the ground before I even registered that the damn thing had hit me. It would have hurt even if it was just Sammy. Dean was right when he called him a Sasquatch. Kid was huge, with solid muscular covering his long limbs. His hands were around my throat. "See how traumatized poor little Dean-o is? He's just gonna lay there while I chock the life right out of Daddy. Can you imagine all the beautiful pain that's gonna cause him later? When he remembers the sounds you made? That you were less than thirty feet from him and he didn't do a damn thing to help you?"

I fumbled in my pocket and came up with exactly what I was looking for. A syringe. I hoped that Bobby knew what the hell he was talking about, because this was my kid that I was about to pump enough tranquilizers into to drop a damn elephant. I didn't have time to be gentle, to remember what a baby Sam was when it came to getting any kind of shots. I jammed the needle into his midsection and depressed the plunger before the demon had the chance to react. The stuff acted fast. Within three seconds, I was being crushed under the dead weight of my son's body. Could the boy be any fucking heavier? It took me three tries to get him off me and several minutes to catch my breath enough to get up and draw the devil's trap and tie him to a chair in the middle of it.

I went to Dean, but he was still off somewhere in his head. It reminded me of the way he was after his mother died. He spent hours just staring at nothing, silent. He flinched away at first when I tried to pull up his pants.

"Hey, kiddo, it's okay. It's Dad. I'm not gonna hurt you. Just let me cover you up. Don't you want to be covered up?"

He made a small, broken noise. He let me pull up his pants, but I could feel the tension in his body, like he was bracing himself for something.

I went back to Sammy and pulled out my hunting knife. I had to take care of that binding symbol before I could exorcise the demon. He woke up almost as soon as the knife sliced into his arm. The demon began to scream and curse as I started the exorcism. Eventually, the Sam's head was thrown back and black smoke poured out. His head dropped to the side. He was passed out. I untied him and moved him where Dean couldn't see him.

* * *

An hour later and I had somehow moved the boys to a motel and got adjoining rooms. Dean was totally catatonic. He hadn't moved once on his own since I shot Sammy. Not unless you counted the rocking, which was really just starting to creep me right the hell out. Sammy was in the next room, just staring out the window and shaking, his chest bloody. So I had one son traumatized and rocking, and the other was traumatized and shaking. And did I mention that I had just _shot my baby boy_? Okay, so it was rock salt and he'd been possessed and hurting Dean at the time… but still… I fucking _shot_ my kid. Hell yeah. This was a red letter day for the Winchesters. I needed to keep an eye on both of them, but they couldn't be in the same room right now because Dean… I wasn't sure if Dean could handle that. Hell, who was I trying to fool? It was going to be a long while before Dean could be in the same room with his own brother again. I tried to force myself to think, to figure this out. Bobby. I hadn't even called him back to tell him how everything went. Primarily because I still wasn't sure myself. My boys were both hurting and I felt completely useless to help them.

It took me a couple of tries to get my fingers to work my phone right. Bobby answered right away.

"John! Is Sam okay?"

And that's when I finally broke. Because I couldn't see how either of my boys would ever be okay again.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry I keep taking so long with the updates. Life keeps getting in the way with all my many and varied projects, and then that little thing I need to do b/c I've kinda gotten attached to having a place to live and food eat called working. Sigh. Anyway, I hope this chapter was worth the wait._

_Hey, __**riquitv**__! Hope you like this chapter._

_I hope this chapter was worth your patience, __**Yammy**__._

_It was satisfying for me to write, __**UnholyMuse**__, because I had really grown to hate them even more then I hate Azazel. At least he has an excuse for being an evil bastard. Anyway, there will be repercussions for Dean. Aren't there always? Poor guy's gonna have a lot to deal with. So tell me, how close was your guess?_

_Unfortunately, __**babyreaper**__, it's never that easy when you hunt things that love using your weaknesses against you._

_Hey __**deangirl**__! Yeah, there are going to be repercussions. It would be unrealistic if there weren't. But yeah, those guys were definite scumbags._

_I didn't mean to worry you __**redgriffen**__. Although I probably just justified your worry…_

_Dean's stronger than anyone gives him credit for, __**greendaypumpkin**__. I think it would be a mistake to ever bet against him._

_It was intense to write, __**moira4eku**__. And it doesn't show any signs of letting up any time soon._

_LOL, __**NongPradu**__! I don't think he's going to live with it as well as Dexter. But I don't think he's going to do a lot of crying over it either, though I imagine that screaming is going to haunt him for a while. You're right about the Sammy disappearances. I'm surprised that Dean never lojacked him. I never saw someone get lost so much! Hope your still on the edge of that seat… but don't fall off._

_-Angie_


	15. Fatherhood

**Fatherhood**

"Daddy!" Meg's voice sounded tinny and far away, like an overseas call. Well, I suppose in a way it was. Or at least over the River Styx.

I sighed. Good help was so hard to find these days. The fresh corpse I was leaning over twitched, shifting the entrails slightly, but not enough to break the connection. Damn things were totally unreliable, but what was I gonna do? Black magic wasn't exactly a twenty first century kinda thing. But it _was_ an art, and I was fucking Picasso. "Got sent back to the Pit, I see. I suspected as much when I didn't get your call yesterday."

"But I still accomplished my mission, Daddy. Had Dean all bare assed and bent over, his baby brother saying the dirtiest things in his ear. He's gonna have nightmares about it for a good long time. And all that guilt, eating away at Sam… he's gonna be looking for some way to atone for it all. All that blood on his hands, hurting that poor little slip of a thing Jo and then breaking his brother. If it hadn't been for John showing up, Dean would have had a hell of a lot more of Sam to remember. I doubt if Dean's gonna be in our way so much anymore."

I smiled brightly. I should have known my Meg wouldn't fail me. "That's why you're my best girl. You always get the job done. Daddy's pleased. The Big Guy's gonna be pleased too. Me, you and your brother? Oh, we're all gonna be in the cat bird's seat after the big takeover."

"When can you get me out of here?"

I chuckled. Meg never did like it back home, not even when she didn't know anything different. "When I spring our sacrificial lamb. Just wait by the door at the appointed time, and make sure our girl is right there, ready to make her grand entrance. Bring a few other friends with you, keep the Winchesters busy and distracted if they feel up to anything more proactive than crying in their Wheaties. The nastier they are, the better."

"Yes Daddy." I cut the connection and took a deep breath. This was going better than my wildest dreams. Fate handed me the perfect wedge to separate the Winchester boys, what with the oldest Winchester boy getting himself gangbanged and all. Sometimes I actually love humanity. It had real potential.

"So what's the next move, Pops?"

I rolled my eyes – or rather my hosts eyes. Kids these days had no respect for their elders. "Next we finish driving a wedge between Sammy and Daddy dearest. But that should be much easier. Little Sammy's always had a problem with authority, always had a hard time being a good son for Johnny boy." I grabbed his face, squeezing maybe a little too hard. "But we won't have that problem, will we?"

His eyes widened a little. "No, Pop. You know I'll obey."

"Good." I let go and patted the boy on the cheek fondly before putting my arm around his shoulder and pulling him to my side. "We have to get this just right, son. Because the Master's countin' on us." Evan wasn't Meg. He wasn't as bright or creative, but he was loyal and usually obedient. When he could focus beyond his own base instincts, that is. I took a deep breath and squeezed my boy's shoulder in a show of camaraderie. I had to get one of the Winchesters to make a deal, to fall in hell and then make poor little Sammy think only he can save himself, save his family, save the _world_. Piece of cake. I sighed. So much to do. "Oh the things I do for Hell."

This world was gonna be one beautifully bloody, agonizing and scary place when we got done with it. I smiled at the thought. I could almost smell the fear and death. "We're gonna have so much fun!"

* * *

I used to cry all the time. Used to do it in the shower so my boys couldn't hear me, couldn't see me falling apart. There were a few times when I'd cry in bed when I was sure they were asleep, but I was always afraid they'd hear and be frightened. Or maybe I was just afraid that they'd be ashamed to have a father who sometimes cried himself to sleep. Either way, I could count on one hand the number of times I'd cried in front of either of my sons.

But right now I just couldn't seem to stop myself from crying. I left the room, trying to keep Dean and Sam from hearing and collapsed just outside the door. I must have managed to tell Bobby where we were because the next thing I know, he's there, trying to get me to tell him what happened. I don't know how long I'd been crying, but I was exhausted, my chest was on fire (I was pretty sure that I had a broken rib or two) and my eyes were sore.

"It broke 'em, Bobby. It broke my boys." I wiped angrily at the teas still spilling from my eyes.

"What do ya mean, it broke 'em?"

"I told you that somethin' happened to Dean 'bout a year and a half ago. It took so long for him to make the progress he did. But that fucking demon just ripped open all those old wounds and used Sammy to do it. Now they're both... God, Bobby. I don't know how... It's my job to fix this and I'll be damned if I know how."

I finally pulled myself together enough to tend to Dean's wounds. I asked Bobby to see to Sam and tell him that I'd come look in on him myself shortly.

Dean was a mess. He'd taken one hell of a beating before I got there. I cursed myself for not checking out the boy sooner. That was an inexcusable rookie mistake. As it was, I couldn't tell if any of the boy's ribs were broken because he wasn't reacting to anything other then showing a very understandable aversion to being touched. Dean was watching me silently. it was unnerving because, unless he was stalking something, my oldest was never silent. So I tried to fill the silence, telling him stories from his childhood, and explaining exactly what I was going to do next to avoid startling him.

"I know you don't feel like you can go through all this again, but don't want you to think about anything but right now. Getting through this second. We'll worry about the rest when they get here. Deal?"

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and nodded. Tears were seeping past his eyelids and I could still feel fine tremors running through his muscles. "None of this is okay right now. None of _us_ are okay right now, but we will be. We're all still alive and that's half the battle right there."

My kid… he was barely getting from one second to the next. And even though it wasn't Sammy that had hurt him, it was still Sammy's _body_, Sammy's _face_, Sammy's _voice_ in his ear. And God, I can only imagine the things that son of a bitch said to Dean before I showed up. What it had said when I got there was bad enough. It took a while, but Dean finally fell asleep. He'd had as little rest as I'd had, and he had been through so much more. His body was just exhausted and couldn't hold out any longer. I hoped he'd sleep more than a couple hours.

* * *

Sammy was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He looked up and flinched when he saw me. Without a word Bobby went next door to Dean's room. Sam's eyes darted around, looking everywhere but at me.

"Dad… Dean… how's Dean?"

"He's resting now. We'll know better in the morning."

"Truth, Dad."

"That what you really want? Or someone to help you beat up on yourself 'cause you don't think you're doin' and adequate job of it on your own?"

"I hurt him, Dad!"

"The bastard possessing you did that, Sammy. What happened was done to both of you."

"Dad... just, please. I need to know how he is. Really."

I sighed. "He's… he's in about the same shape as you are. He's not talking right now, though. But… he did that before, when your Mom died."

He barked out a bitter laugh. "I've been sittin' here tryin' to convince myself that all this is a bad dream, and that I'll wake up next to you in the truck on our way to get Dean. But it isn't, is it?" His hand went to his chest, where the rock salt had hit and tore his skin. Now white gaze was taped there, hiding the wounds. But I knew they were there.

"Sorry about shootin' you, kiddo. If there had been another way…"

"But there wasn't. If I had been anyone else, you would have killed me. It would have been the safest thing to do, not even take the chance. I could have hurt you… hell, I _did_ hurt you."

"I'm tough. I've had worse." Physically, at least. "Besides, I keep tellin' you, it wasn't you kiddo."

"How long... how long was I… gone?"

I shrugged and looked away. "Eight days."

"Jesus," he breathed and raked his fingers through his too long hair. "I only remember enough to fill up about two days. What the hell was that bitch doing with me for eight days? The things I remember… what I almost did to Dean. God, he must hate me."

"Sweet Jesus, Sammy! It was the demon. And your brother doesn't hate you. We just have to get through this one second at a time. Don't worry about the next minute, or hour, or day. Just focus on right now."

"But Azazel-"

"Fuck Azazel and fuck whatever evil plan he's hatching. We're going to lay low for a while and get our shit together. _Then_we'll worry about A-fucking-zazel." And if it was the last thing I did, I was going to end that bastard once and for all.

* * *

The boys were both in fitful sleep and Bobby'd dragged the little kitchenette table over to the adjoining doors and jammed it between them, so that a little bit was on my and Dean's side of the doorway. We sat down and shared a quarter of a bottle of whiskey. I badly wanted more, but I knew I couldn't afford to get drunk. Not right now. "Gorden," I started, suddenly realizing that I'd forgotten all about the man.

"I called him. Let him know you found Sam. Said to call him if you needed anything else. I think that boy has some sort of man crush on you."

"'Man crush?' Have you been watchin' MTV again, you old bastard?"

Bobby chuckled. "Nope. Learned that one from Dean." He paused for a second, rolling his empty glass between his hands. "You gotta sleep, John. You ain't gonna be no good to either one of 'em if you're dead tired."

"I don't know if I can, Bobby. Every time I close my eyes…"

"You haven't slept in at least three days, John."

"I caught an hour here and there."

He snorted. "Right. What was I thinkin'. You always bitch when Dean does that, but the boy gets it from his stubborn ass of a father."

I grunted, but otherwise ignored his comment. "Bobby, you know that ritual that you were talking about before Dean pulled his disappearing act? How soon can we get it done?"

He tilted his head to the side as he considered the logistics. "A week at the outset."

"Do it. I want that year, Bobby. I _need_ it. My boys are gonna need a lot more help than I'm capable of giving 'em."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. Until then, you're comin' home with me. In a couple of hours, I can get the place locked up so tight, nothin'll be able to get in."

"Like your safe room," I said with a small smirk.

"Yeah, whatever Winchester. Like you're not jonesin' for one o' your very own."

* * *

_A/N: LOL… I need a beta. I keep seeing typos when I go back to refer to past chapters. It's really getting on my nerves, since I'm a perfectionist. I'm very happy that the last chapter took everyone by surprise. I hate being predictable. Logical, yes; predictable, no._

_Yes, __**greendaypumpkin**__, it did break something in Dean that not even the first attack could. And Sam's not gonna get over this any time soon either._

_Bobby's always good to have around when it hits the fan, __**Yammy**__._

_Hey __**moira4eku**__. The boys are definitely gonna need help._

_Thanks __**babyreaper**__! All three Winchesters need serious help._

_Thank you __**DeanBean**__. They will. Eventually. I think it's always a mistake to count out a Winchester._

_You're right, __**NongPradu**__. It being Sammy – Sammy's voice, Sammy's face, Sammy's hands – made it a thousand times worse. Thankfully John got there when he did. It's gonna be a while before either of the boys is ready to reflect on exactly what happened before John showed up. There will be bits and pieces here and there though._

_I'm glad it was worth the wait for you __**EtainAingeal**__. Hope this is soon enough for you._

_I'm sure that the boys are going to eventually help each other, __**cuddygirl18**__, but I'm afraid I don't do Wincest. Sorry._

_Glad you enjoyed the last chapter and hope you continue to enjoy the story, __**ashmccoleman**__._

_I'm happy that you were the _good_ kind of shocked, __**vengeance71**__, and not the 'what the hell is wrong with this woman' kind a shocked. ;-)_

_I think it's gonna take a while for John to stop feeling guilty about shooting Sam, __**deangirl1**__, even though it was technically Meg he shot. _

_Winchesters are tough, __**riquitv**__. If anyone can get through something like this, it's them._

_Real life definitely sucks, __**redgriffin7**__. You're right that Dean won't hold it against Sam, but unfortunately no one can control how they react to a situation. Just like in canon when Sam shot him in the asylum, and again when he was possessed by Meg, Dean still took it personally even though he tried not to. And more recently remember how the siren inspired Sammy-rant left Dean feeling. So while I'm sure Dean will try not to feel threatened by Sam's presence or angry with Sam, I'm not sure if he'll be able to just _not _feel that way, you know?_


	16. Guilt

**Guilt**

I slumped in the front seat of Bobby's truck as we drove to his house. Dad was ahead of us in the Impala, Dean next to him. Dad thought maybe being in the car again would be good for him, said he'd come back to pick up his own truck later. It made sense that Dad would be with Dean, but it still made me feel like the odd man out. Dad and Dean had always been close and I was the guy on the outside looking in.

I shook my head. I didn't have a right to wallow in self-pity. Not when it was my fault that Dean was so broken. He _needed_ Dad. From what Bobby had told me, from what I'd witnessed myself through the hotel room window when Dad and Bobby were packing to leave, even though Dean barely responded to Dad, it was more than anyone else would likely be able to get out of him. Much as I hate to admit it, that included me. Dad was patient and gentle in a way that I recalled from my childhood. There was a lump in my throat at the memories it brought back. I knew Dad loved me, but I wasn't Dean. I could never be Dean no matter how hard I tried. That thought brought back memories too. I moved away from the window and sat to wait for Bobby to come get me once Dad and Dean drove off.

Now we were following them, stopping only once to get food and twice for bathroom breaks and to gas up. Dad was hovering near the bathroom door when I got out of the restroom at the last stop. He looked a little sheepish when I frowned at him. I knew he was just making sure I didn't disappear on him again.

"How's the chest?"

"It's fine, Dad. You gotta stop beatin' yourself up over that. You saved us all. You did the right thing." He nodded and it was like Dean's sigh. He didn't agree but he wasn't arguing. "I'm the one who should be sorry, I'm the one who got possessed."

"Could happen to anybody. If you're tired enough, scared enough. Open enough. You hadn't been sleeping well, you just found out all that shit about your mother and the demon, and Dean was in danger. You were vulnerable. You and Dean both have been for a long time now. I shoulda… shoulda seen this comin'. Gotten you boys some type of protection, but possession honestly never even occurred to me."

It was my turn to nod. It didn't happen to anybody. It happened to me and I'd hurt Dean. Dean, who'd never done anything but try to protect me. As bad as all the other things I'd done were, that hurt most. "How're your ribs, Dad?"

He laughed and it seemed genuine even if it was a little strained. "Hurts like a bitch if I move wrong, but I've had worse. If you apologize again, I will take you over my knee, boy. You and your brother. I swear."

"I'll make a deal. You stop feeling guilty about shooting me with rock salt, and I'll stop feeling bad about your ribs."

"Huh," he snorted softly. "We'll see how much luck either of us'll have with that. Well… we'd better get back on the road."

"Yeah."

* * *

A few hours after we arrived at Bobby's an old friend of Dad's named Missouri showed up. She took one look at me, tsked a couple of times and then started fussing over me. I looked at Dad and Bobby helplessly, but neither of them seemed interesting in a rescue attempt as she pushed me onto the couch and sat next to me.

"Oh, stop bein' so skittish. I ain't gonna hurt you. I'm here to help you and your brother. Look at how you've grown. I ain't seen you since you were a baby."

"Help us? What are you? A psychiatrist?" I felt a little appalled that Dad would call a shrink. Not that I didn't think we probably needed one… just that this was _Dad_. John Winchester consulting a shrink was like a normal guy calling an exorcist to help him out with his rebellious teenager. It would be a sign that Dad was completely out of his depth, not a very comforting idea.

She laughed as if that was the most amusing thing she'd ever heard. "Heaven's no, boy. I'm a psychic. I helped out the last time your brother wouldn't talk."

A psychic. Somehow that made more sense. "You mean when… Mom died?" I couldn't help remembering everything Dad told me about my mother, everything that he'd tried to hide from us.

She inhaled sharply. "You know." She flushed and her eyes widened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to read you like that. It was just so… _strong_."

I shrugged. Apart from my surprise that she for one, apparently already knew the whole story and for two, wasn't running away from me shrieking that I was a freak, I didn't really mind. She could read me from now till next year if it could help fix Dean. And Dad trusted her. Gaining Dad's trust was something few people managed. I was still trying to figure out how to do it myself. "It's okay. If that's what you need to do, you can read me all you want."

"Oh, baby." She looked up at Dad where he stood next to us. "I thought you said you never wanted him to know."

Dad shrugged. "Couldn't be helped. A lot's happened that I wasn't able to tell you about an' that's one of 'em. Sammy here found out a few things on his own and I thought it was best to just get it all out in the open at that point."

Missouri made a sound in her throat before turning back to me. She took one of my hands in hers. "You got a lot of guilt hovering around you, Sam. I don't need to read you at all to see it. What do you say we go somewhere and talk about that, hmm?"

Dad caught my eye over her head. "It's okay to tell her everything you want to, Sammy. It'll work better that way. She's the one who told me what the demon did that night."

* * *

I spent three hours with Missouri, telling her everything. What had happened to Dean, how long it took him to make any real progress, how he finally started to be more like himself when I got myself possessed. She would stop me every once and a while and ask me how I felt about certain things. Like Dean being able to open up to Dad in ways the he couldn't with me, or Dean going off by himself to look for the men who hurt him. She might not have been a shrink, but it felt like I was talking to one. I was tired when I finished telling her the whole story.

"Did you know any of the other people that the demon attacked while it was possessing you?"

I shook my head. "No. But I think Dad knew one of them. When it was… when Dad found us, it was taunting him about a girl named Jo. Something about the way he reacted. He knew who it was talking about."

Missouri sighed. "Yes, if it's the Jo I think you're talking about, he does know her. Her father was a hunter, and a good friend of John's."

I stared at her silently for a while, my fingers absently picking at the hem of one of my shirts. "Did Dad kill him?"

"Why would you ask that?"

I shrugged and looked down. "The demon said he did."

"They were hunting and Bill got taken over by something, tried to kill John. It couldn't be helped. Your daddy was so tore up over it he called me that night. Didn't know how he was gonna tell Bill's wife. Jo was only a child at the time. There's a lot of sadness, a lot of regret, attached to that for your daddy. I think the only thing that made him kill that man was knowing he had to get back to you and your brother. He never got over the guilt taking Bill away from his own little girl."

I nodded. Now it was worse. Thanks to me. "Can you help Dean?"

"I hope so. I'd like to help you too, Sam."

"I don't deserve it."

"Why not? Did you ask that demon to possess you? Did you _want_ to hurt all those people?"

I finally looked up at her again. "No."

"Then it's not your fault. It used you. You have to forgive yourself. I'll be here when you're ready to do that."

* * *

I spent most of the rest of the day in my room. I didn't want to run into anyone, didn't really feel like another round of 'it's not your fault so stop blaming yourself' that everyone seemed to want to have. I'd just showered for bed when I returned to found Dad sitting on my bed waiting for me.

"Dad."

"Sammy."

"How's Dean?"

"Missouri said she got him to acknowledge her for a few minutes. I suppose that's a start. You know me, though," he said with a self-deprecating smile curving the sides of his mouth. "Patience was never my strong suit."

I laughed softly at that. "No, it really isn't."

"Listen, son… I have to go somewhere tomorrow and I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"Damn it Dad! I thought you said you were going to stay here and lay low!" I knew I sounded like a petulant child, but I really couldn't help it. Dad was supposed to stay with us.

"We are. I… I have to go talk to an old friend."

I snorted and shook my head. "You know what? That's fine. We spent half our lives without you anyway." I turned my back on him and gripped the edges of the dresser. What I really wanted to do was beg him not to go, not to leave me, not to leave us, the way I used to when I was a child. Before I finally realized that it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. Even though he spent most of his time with Dean, he still spent time just being here, just being my Dad and I didn't want that to stop. It was foolish, it was childish and I was much too old to want him here this badly. But I just couldn't make myself _not_ want it. I felt his hand on my shoulder and I wanted to pull away, I meant to pull away, but I couldn't. I fought the urge to turn around and bury my face in his neck, cry like I used to after a particularly bad dream because I was just as broken as Dean and I just wanted my father here.

"I swear to you, that I wouldn't leave if this didn't have to be done. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You always say that."

"It's always true. Nothin' on this earth or outside of it means as much to me as you and your brother. Not even the things that probably should."

* * *

Okay, so I hadn't really slept in three days, not more than a few minutes or an hour here and there. I don't want to sleep. Because every time I close my eyes, I see Dean… pleading with me to stop, to let him go, breaking apart piece by piece as the demon used my hands to beat him, to hold him down, used my voice to say the most horrible things to him. _Please Sammy_. And if I'm not seeing Dean, I'm seeing that little blond girl the demon taunted in a sing song voice and called Jo. _My Daddy shot your Daddy in the he-ad_. Seeing her lay underneath me crying and trembling, her wrists in my hands feeling small and delicate and she's long since stopped fight, but the demon enjoys hurting her anyway, taunting her, saying disgusting things to make her cry harder. And when I'm not seeing Dean or Jo, I'm seeing the kids I tortured after killing their parents in front of them. That was just closing my eyes. Sleeping was worse, because things I'd forgotten kept coming back to me then. Like dry humping Dean and asking him how many times I thought I could get off in him before Dad showed up. Or how tight and hot Jo was. Or how it felt to cut someone open and pull out their entrails. The worst… the worst dreams are when Dad didn't get there in time and I break Dean apart the way I broke Jo apart, only worse because this has happened to Dean before and I'm his fucking brother, I'm supposed to protect him not become his worst nightmare. So, yeah. Not much sleeping.

Instead, I study. I read everything I can about Azazel. Learn that the son of a bitch actually has his own cult. Children of Azazel. Huh. That might be worth checking out. Of course it's on Wikipedia and this cult might be a bunch of delusional whack jobs, on the other hand they might be a bunch of dangerous, demon worshiping whack jobs. Really, it's a tossup. If they were really worshiping the demon, they could know something. Often cults were the repository for everything that you wanted to know about the god or demon that they worshiped. How to bind it, kill it, or otherwise neutralize it for instance. I also study everything I can about preventing possession. It all says the same things Dad did… if you've got any vulnerability, only a charm can help you.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"What if we all got tattoos? Of the pentagrams charms you gave us?"

"You mean, like permanent protection?"

I nodded, trying to look him in the eye. It had gotten almost impossible for me to look anyone directly in the eye lately, even myself. "As long as the skin remains undamaged. We can put it over our hearts… in a place where breaking it would be the least of our worries if there was any damage."

"I'd say that's a damn fine idea." He laughed. "You Winchesters… always comin' up with somethin' new. I'll make a phone call or two. I know someone who can come here and do it."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea… Dean… maybe we should wait till he's better."

"We'll talk to John about it before we do anything."

I sighed. I knew he was right. I hadn't gone near Dean since I was possessed. Dad didn't think he was ready to see me yet, and to be honest I was afraid of what I'd see in his eyes when he saw me. After the first attack, he flinched for months whenever I got too close. I can't even imagine how he'll react now. So Dad was probably the best judge of when Dean would be able to handle some strange guy coming around to give him a tat. "Yeah. But I want to get it now. I… I need to."

Bobby nodded but didn't say anything at first. "Well, you're an adult last time I checked. Babysittin' episode from a few weeks back notwithstanding. There's a guy in town. I can give you the name and number."

I smiled. Sometimes I wished my father could be more like Bobby. I'd actually said it once, during a fight. Dad'd just laughed and said that he doubted Bobby would be so permissive if he were actually our father and was the one who had to worry about getting us to our next damn birthday. I wondered how true that was.

"Bobby, how's Dean today?" I'd been working up to the question since I'd come in to Bobby's study, sitting opposite him and quietly reading though my own books while he researched a hunt for a friend. I'm sure he'd been waiting for me to ask.

He looked at me for a second, a curious darkness in his eyes, before grunting and looking back down. "'Bout the same far as I can tell. Missouri's in there with 'im now. She thinks he's makin' progress. I suppose she would know better."

Bobby was interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and yelling upstairs.

"Bobby! Get up here now!" It was Missouri. I was shocked by how quickly Bobby was in motion. I followed him as he ran to the stairs and took them up two at a time. Missouri was at the top waiting for him. "Hurry," she urged as he rushed past her and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard him curse from inside.

She stood in front of me when I tried to follow him. "You'll just make it worse right now." I would have pushed her out of the way and gone anyway but her words hit me like a sucker punch. I sagged against the wall. I knew she was right. I heard scuffling coming from the bathroom near Dean's room. "Bobby can handle this. Let's go downstairs. Come on now." She gave me a gentle push and let myself be directed back into Bobby's study. "It's gonna be alright. Dean's gonna get through this. He's got a destiny. You both got destinies, and you're both gonna be back together and better than ever. You've just gotta have faith. Dean's never had faith in much other than John, and you've always had faith to spare. You balance each other out. Ying and yang."

There was quiet upstairs, but it was anything but peaceful. Missouri sat with me, murmuring things that I didn't really hear. Bobby came down about an hour later, blood on his clothes. "Your brother's alright," he muttered as he headed for the liquor.

"What happened," I asked, my breath a little too shallow as I stared at blood on his clothes.

Bobby poured himself a drink. "He smashed the mirror. Tore up his hands real good. Then he…" Bobby stopped speaking and downed a shot of whiskey.

"He what, Bobby?"

"He was trying to slit his wrist when I got in there. I stopped him before he got an artery, but he lost a lot of blood."

I slumped in the chair and ran my fingers through my hair. "Oh, God."

"He'll be alright for now. I stitched him up."

Missouri stood up. "I'd better go see to him."

"He's sedated."

"That'll only make the poor boy more open."

* * *

_A/N:_

_Yes, __**redgriffin7**__, Bobby and John will definitely present a united front. I hope this can tide you over till the next update._

_I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far, __**Shinigami061**__… and yes it is traumatizing. _

_Azazel's like the epitome of an evil mastermind, __**Yammy**__. I almost hated that they killed him off when they did, but it was definitely satisfying to see Dean put one right between his eyes. If anyone could completely break Bobby and the Winchesters, it would be him. Conversely if anyone could outsmart him, it would be the Winchesters and Bobby._

_Thanks __**Wen**__!_

_Yes, __**rog457**__, Bobby loves all the Winchesters like family but it's not quite the obsessive love that they all have for each other. So he can be reasonable when they just aren't even close to capable of it._

_Yes, they are all broken, aren't they __**talon81**__? And I haven't even gotten to Cold Oak and Ruby yet… Oh, and then there's poor doomed Adam…_

_Those are the main questions, __**babyreaper**__. Only time will tell. Of course Azazel and the entire world of supernatural creatures will be working their tails off to make everything worse._

_Dean's reaction to Sam is gonna have to wait awhile, __**deangirl1**__. Mostly because John and Sam are both afraid of how Dean will react._

_I'm so glad that you love this story, __**greendaypumpkin**__! We find out a little more about Jo in this chapter and more is revealed about what Meg had poor Sammy up to in following chapters. Sam's trying really, really hard not to think about it too much right now. Poor boy's definitely circling the drain. Hope this fix helps you._

_The boys are all so broken, __**DeanBean**__, that they really need Bobby and Missouri right now._

_-Angie_


	17. Debt

**Debt**

"What the hell are you doin' here, Winchester?" A glass of beer was slammed down on the table in front of me. I smiled despite myself. The beer was probably someone else's and the woman had just slammed it down in front of me for emphasis. She had always been big on emphasis. I took a deep breath before looking up into a familiar set of blue eyes.

"I came because… because I heard somethin' and I need to know if it's true. Need to make sure you know."

Ellen gave a bitter laugh. "Of course it's about what you need. It always was, don't see any reason for that to change."

"You know that's not…" I closed my eyes, bit down my response. I had to stay focused. "Do you know where Jo is?"

She stiffened. "What about her?"

I could still read Ellen like a book. She had no idea where her only child was. Hell fire and damnation. "I heard somethin' about her."

"I swear to God John Winchester, if you don't spit it out, I'll shot your ass full of buckshot." She sounded frightened now, and I can't say I blamed her. The quickest way to scare the shit out of me was always to threaten my boys and Ellen was no different when it came to Jo.

"Demon I exorcised a few days back said it… attacked her."

"Attacked? Is she…" Ellen suddenly collapsed in the chair she was standing next to, all the strength gone from her limbs. I knew how she felt. There had been this one hunt a few years back, when Sammy was at Stanford, that had gone bad in every fucking way it could. There had been about an hour where I thought for sure Dean was dead. I could barely string together two damn thoughts during that entire time until I found the boy, unconscious but alive. To this day I have no idea how I made it through that hour.

"As far as I know, the demon left her alive. But we have to find her."

"John, I can't… I can't lose her too."

"I know Ellen," I said gently. My heart ached in sympathy. Really, that was what made me come here. Refusing to help another parent save their child was always on some level like refusing to save my own boys. Something I could never live with. "We'll find her."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pulling herself together. "You said it attacked her. What does that mean, if it didn't kill her?"

I looked away. Ellen had been around demons enough to know that they aimed at inflicting the maximum amount of damage when they went after people. She wanted to be prepared. And she deserved the truth. "It… it claimed it raped her."

"Oh, God…"

"We don't know if it was tellin' the truth Ellen. Those fucks lie."

"Unless the truth will hurt more."

I nodded in silent agreement. I took a shuddering breath. "The body it was possessing at the time… the man was… it was Sammy, Ellen."

"Fuck." Ellen laughed, soft and bitter. "You Winchesters, I swear to God. Am I still bein' punished for what we did? Wasn't it enough that Bill…"

And there it was. The thing that I'd been avoiding for the better part of fifteen years. Bill Harville had been one of my closest friends, and I'd betrayed him in the worst way imaginable. Me, John Winchester, honorable man, noble demon hunter and all around principled human being. And as if that weren't enough, I'd gotten him killed on a hunt. Actually had to put him down. I'd told the boys to stop saying that we were cursed, but I swear we are. Everybody we love gets hurt in the end, just for having us in their lives, just for giving a shit about us. Sometimes I think that girl Dean fell for a few years back got off lucky by getting off the Winchester joy ride when she did.

I cleared my throat. "If you got somebody to watch the place, we can leave tonight before the trail gets any colder." Before anything else happens to Jo… because if she didn't come home for comfort, there was no telling what state of mind she was in. Or even if she'd found a safe place to hole up. Anything could have happened to her after the demon's attack. I shudder to think what would have happened to Dean if Sammy hadn't found him, passed out in that damn alley like that. "Don't know how long it'll take, but however long…" I let my voice trail off as my gut twisted at the thought of being away from the boys for more than a day or two. But I had to do this, had to help find Jo. It was because of me, because of my connection to Ellen that this had happened to her and even if that weren't the case I owed Ellen this. I owed Bill this.

* * *

It turned out to be easier then I'd imagined to find Jo. It was kind of disconcerting to have something be so easy after the month I'd had. The girl had disappeared after a fight with her mother, and Ellen hadn't started to worry until about two days ago. Apparently, sweet little Jo had grown up to be quite a handful. Can't say I'm surprised, considering who her mother is. It wasn't often that she'd disappear like that, but it happened a couple of times before. When she just needed distance and independence. Ellen had learned to let her go cool off, not freak out when she did it. Bet those days are over. This last time, she'd driven up to Sioux Falls, rented a hotel room. That's where the demon had followed her, and that's where we found her thanks to some long haired kid named Ash, who apparently lived at the roadhouse. He hacked into her credit card account and found her last transactions.

The drive wasn't long, but it was tense. Ellen sat next to me so tightly wound that I thought she'd snap at any moment. Once we got to the hotel, the manager recognized Jo's picture, said that she had given her credit card number and told her that she wasn't sure how long she'd be there and to just keep charging it every day until she came and told her to stop.

"Sweet girl from what I can tell. But I haven't seen her much since that nice young man of hers left. Just once or twice getting ice or food. Looked broken hearted. Must be pinin' away somethin' awful for that boy. Can't say as I blame her. Real looker, that kid."

I pulled out my wallet, already knowing the answer to the question I was about to ask and dreading the confirmation. I slid a photo of Sam and Dean out and ran my thumb over it before showing it to the manager. "This the boy?"

"The one with the long hair, yes sir. That's him alright. Real polite young man."

I clenched my jaw, feeling like I was about to throw up as I put the picture back in my wallet. Ellen leaned forward. "I just need to know what room my baby girl's in. She called me and said she was sick, but then the call dropped and I've been getting her voicemail since. I'm so worried about her."

The manager sighed and told us that she didn't normally do this kind of thing before finally relenting. Room 402. Even gave us a spare key. Not that we needed it. I was an old hand at picking the locks at cheap hotels. The room was dark and in total disarray. It looked empty at first, until we saw the lump on the bed. Jo was curled up under the covers in a fetal position. I was familiar with that. Dean did that all the time these days. Suddenly I felt like I was intruding and backed out of the room, apologizing as I went. I closed the door behind me and went to my truck, leaned against it, waiting. Ellen came out some time later, eyes red and swollen, and stood next to me. She didn't need to say anything. I knew exactly what she was feeling. She wanted to find who'd done this to her girl and kill him slow and painful. She wanted to wrap Jo up in her arms and never let another thing hurt her again. She wanted to somehow take away all her pain, all her fear, make her whole again. Somehow. I sighed.

"You just gotta love her, Ellen. That's all you can do. Love her and let her know that she can talk to you about anything. It'll break your damn heart. But we're parents. That's what we do, we suck it up and do whatever the fuck they need us to."

"Don't say that like you know what I'm feelin' right now, John. You don't. You can't."

I laughed softly, really wanting more than anything to cry. "Yeah."

She sighed and looked at me. "This isn't your fault. Or Sam's. How is he?"

"'S been hard on the boy. The demon… let him watch a lot of the things it did. Kept him for eight days before we found 'im. Did a real number on Dean too."

"I'm sorry, John. I know how much your boys mean to you."

" As much as Jo means to you. But Dean's… he's _broken_, Ellen. He just sits and stares. I thought it was bad when it first happened, but at least he'd looked at me, responded to me. Now… he's so deep in his own head, sometimes I can feel myself givin' up on him. It makes me feel like I'm just gonna curl up and die. Sammy's not in much better shape. He cries himself to sleep and only sleeps an hour or two at a time, drinks too much, scrubs himself raw in the shower. I watch 'im, Ellen, and it's like watchin' myself after Mary died. Only worse, because I didn't have that much guilt. That son of a bitch murdered people, murdered women and children, raped Jo, beat the hell out of Dean in more ways than one, and made him watch it all. Dean's in no condition to help him and I… Sam and I have been like oil and water for years now. I'm tryin' to help him, but I don't know if I'm helpin' at all." I finally stopped speaking, dimly aware that at some point I'd started crying. I closed my eyes when I felt Ellen's fingers on my face, gently wiping away my tears. I didn't deserve her tenderness, but I drank it in. I've been with other women since Mary died, but Ellen was as close as I'd ever come to loving someone else. Fucked up considering she was married to someone else. Maybe that's way I was able to allow myself to feel so much for her… it was safer. She wouldn't expect me to change for her, to ever put her before my boys. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"You're his daddy. I'm sure you're helping more then you know. Thank you for helping me find my girl. I appreciate it a lot more now that I know you'd probably much rather be with them. Go on back to your boys John. I can get Jo back to the roadhouse. We'll be fine." I felt her hand on my shoulder as she leaned up and brushed her lips against mine. I returned the kiss, deepened it a little. A kiss of comfort, with something more lingering around the edges. Something neither of us was ready to explore again. I opened my eyes and she gave me a small sad smile. "And don't be such a stranger anymore."

I returned her smile and nodded. Missouri and Bobby were with the boys, but I felt better when I was there too. "Take care of that girl of yours and if you ever need to talk…"

She nodded and backed away so that I could get in the truck. "You too, Winchester."

* * *

"What?" I arrived at Bobby's to find Missouri standing on the porch waiting for me. The expression on her face was a familiar one. It told me that she was preparing to calm me down, which meant that something had happened that would upset me.

"Don't you 'what' me, John Winchester."

I sighed. "Missouri, I've been driving all night to get back. Please just tell me what happened."

She sighed and seemed to deflate a little. "In a way, it's good news."

"Then why do you look like you're trying to figure out the best way to calm me down after you actually tell me?"

"Because it sounds bad." She paused again and I waited her out silently. "Dean had an episode."

I froze. That didn't sound good at all. "An episode?"

"He… he smashed the mirror in the bathroom. Cut his hands up real good. Bobby had to sedate him."

I didn't say another word, just rushed into the house and up the stairs to the room Dean was staying in. I had a feeling I didn't know the full story, but right now I just wanted to see my boy. Dean was dead to the world. I smiled slightly at the line of drool connecting the corner of his mouth to the pillow. He looked like he was just asleep. I found myself smiling a little at the sight. The boy usually drooled in his sleep, something I'd always thought was adorable. Not that I'd ever tell him that. His hands were bandaged, and there was a little bled through on one, a small bright red spot. There was also a bandage on his left wrist. I picked it up, ran my thumb over it before pulling at the corner of the bandage to take a good look at the wound. It looked intentional, deep and straight at the beginning – deep enough to need a couple of stitches – and shallower as it progressed, with a little curve like someone had pulled the sharp object away suddenly. Like someone had snatched it out of Dean's hands. He'd tried to slit his wrist. Shit, shit, shit. My knees went weak and I hit the floor hard.

"I know it looks bad, but it means he's comin' out of it. Comin' back to himself."

I glared at Missouri over my shoulder. "He tried to kill himself. Came damn close from the looks of it."

She nodded. "Thank God Bobby heard the noise and got to the bathroom. Another few seconds…"

"How the hell is this good news?" My words came out in a growl that would have intimidated just about anyone as I ran my fingers through Dean's soft hair, pushing it back, trying to make it look the way he used to do it. Luckily Missouri wasn't anyone, and she seemed to realize that it was unintentional.

"People don't kill themselves when they're in deep depression. They kill themselves on the way out of it."

"You didn't see this coming?"

"I'm a psychic John… not God. I can't see everything comin'. But we all know how this works. We all know that he's gonna want to hurt himself. He was stuck in a bad memory and couldn't make it stop. I tried to guide him, but he panicked and ran into the bathroom. He stood there staring at himself in the mirror for a moment, then just started smashing it. He wasn't really trying to kill himself as much as he was just trying to make all that pain stop."

"Did Sammy… did he see?"

"No. But he knows what happened."

Great. Another thing for the boy to feel guilty over. I let myself fall back, so that I was sitting on the floor, and gently reapplied the bandage. I felt Missouri's hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently.

"I know John. You have to have faith."

"In what? In God? In the universe? In fate? None of that kept Mary from burning on that damn ceiling, or that bastard demon from feeding my son his blood, or our family from being hunted. It didn't stop Dean from…" I stopped myself and took a deep breath. "How are they ever going to get over this? They're strong. I made sure they were strong. But this… God, Missouri, if Bobby hadn't gotten to him in time, you might as well have salted and burned me and Sam right along with him."

* * *

"You don't…" Sammy swallowed so hard I could actually hear it as I checked his wounds, "you don't have to do this."

I paused and squinted at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. "What do you mean, I don't have to do this? You'll risk infection if I don't."

He shrugged. "I deserve it. I don't even know how you can stand to touch me after what I did to Dean. To all those other people, yeah, but especially to Dean. If I was anyone else you would have killed me just for touching him."

His voice shook a little and I knew he was fighting with tears. If this had been Dean, maybe I'd know what to say, but I didn't. It hurt me to see Sammy in so much pain, and hurt even worse that I wasn't sure what I could do to ease it. Our relationship had been so contentious through his teenage years. But it hadn't during his younger years. Sam had called me Daddy much longer than Dean had. He hadn't stopped until he was nearly twelve, and for a few years after that he'd occasionally slip when he was tired enough, or frightened enough, or in pain, or sick. He used to crawl into my bed when he had nightmares, want to snuggle when he wasn't feeling well. Dean provided most of the nurturing and day to day care, but I was still Daddy. I ran my fingers through his hair like I used to when he was younger, rubbing his scalp with my fingertips, ignoring the awkwardness I felt at the action. "You didn't do anything. Not a damn thing, Sammy."

"Then why do I feel so guilty? So dirty?" He sniffed and wiped at his nose with his sleeve. Looking at him sitting there looking all of about six years old, I was struck once again with how your kids never really stop being your kids. I could be watching Dean kill a werewolf, and be suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that he was just a boy. If we all lived long enough, Sam would still be my baby boy, my _Sammy,_ at sixty.

"Same reason Dean does. They used you, they took your control away and made you do things that you didn't want to. I told your brother once that I tried so hard to keep you both away from Azazel because I didn't want to see how badly these demons could take you boys apart. This is what they _do_, this is their entire fucking life's purpose and they're damn good at it. Destroying people any way they can, every way they can. Especially us. We threaten them. There's somethin' these sons of bitches want and we're in their way so they're gonna pull out every trick they can come up with to tear us apart."

"Yeah… they want me."

"And I already told you they can't have you. You're my baby boy, Sammy. One way or another, I'm gonna make this right for you and your brother." I reached into little first aid case and pulled out a syringe that I'd prepared earlier.

"What's that?" Sam's eyes got a little wider as he eyed the needle.

"It's to help you sleep. It's been days, son."

"But I don't… please… no, Dad." His voice was almost a plaintive whine. Even though he didn't like needles, he'd stopped complaining about it years ago, when Dean had called him a big crybaby in exasperation. I knew he didn't want to sleep, understood why. He'd always been plagued with bad dreams, and I couldn't imagine what his subconscious was doing to him now.

"You won't dream. Just… a nice long, deep sleep." The sedative would put him under too deep to dream. He wouldn't be completely rested… the human brain needed the cycles, needed to dream in order to function properly, but it was a damn sight better than nothing. "Please son? You have to sleep, or your body's just gonna give on you."

He swallowed again and nodded, holding his arm out in surrender and trust, his head averted so he wouldn't have to watch the needle go in. I gave him the shot, a lifetime of being gentle to accommodate Sammy's squeamishness kicking in. I was surprised when he sagged against me, tucking his head under my chin like he used to when he was a child. No small feat, considering that he was a little taller than me now. "Sorry I yelled at you yesterday, Dad. I just didn't want you to go." He added the last part softly, almost as if he were afraid to say it out loud, his words beginning to slur. "Never want you to go, Dad."

I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around him, rubbing soothing circles into his back the way I used too, easing him into sleep. "I know, kiddo. It's okay. I'm back now."

I held him tightly as he slid into sleep. I didn't want to let go. I never wanted to let go of either of my boys. If only keeping them safe was that simple.

* * *

_A/N: The response for Guilt was just… WOW. I hope this update is good for everyone._

_Good guess, __**deangirl**__. Sorry about the lack of Dean pov. That may be a while yet. Dean's not really talking to me either right now._

_None of them seem to be doing too good a job with the coping, __**greendaypumpkin**__._

_That's about right __**rog457**__. They all feel guilty for what happened to everybody else, especially each other. Seems like a Winchester specialty. If people who commit or attempt suicide were thinking straight at the time, then think suicide would be a much rarer thing than it is. Also, what happens when the one thing that you live for is also the same thing causing you the most pain to think about?_

_If anyone can help, __**NongPradu**__, it's Missouri. Yeah, Azazel's one nasty piece of work. Glad you think I made him worse (better?)._

_Hey, I already told you I was evil __**redgriffen7**__. You've been warned. ;) I always wanted to see more John-Bobby interaction on the show. How their friendship would have worked always fascinated me._

_I know, __**yammy**__. I really should have my head examined for causing the poor man so much pain._

_Thanks __**VindictiveMuse**__!_

_Thanks __**DeanBean**__!_

_Meg's good at finding everyone's weak points, __**Shinigami061**__. Sam's very talkative when he's distressed, though. Dean clams up._

_You're welcome, __**requitv**__! The first time Dean and Sam come face to face again should be interesting._

_It is heartbreaking, isn't it __**talon81**__? To want to make it all better, but to know that you can only make it worse._

_Thanks __**ashmccoleman**__!_

_Hopefully between John, Missouri and Bobby, Dean (and Sam) can be put back together again __**babyreaper**__._

_Why, thank you __**smartassmusicjunkie94**__! That's a huge compliment._

_I'm glad you like it, __**BeccaWestlifeAddict**__. I enjoy reading your stories and I have to say it's really cool when I writer you like digs your stuff. This story is like a big character study for me. When you see how people react under times of intense stress, you get a glimpse of who they really are. In the very first scene of the pilot, John made the decision to save his sons before trying to save Mary. Mary wasn't his overriding concern… his boys were. Once they were safe, he did try to save her, but not to the point that he couldn't make it to his sons. I think that was supposed to set the tone for everything else on the show. If John wasn't obsessed with saving Mary to the detriment of his sons, then why would he be obsessed with avenging Mary to the detriment of his sons? I think that was supposed to clue us in that John's quest may have had more to do with protecting the boys then it appeared. I struggled with the idea of Dean killing his rapists, but it just sort of happened organically. Originally that was supposed to be John's role, to show how far he'd go for his sons but I just couldn't write it that way. Anyway, glad you're enjoying the story. I'm done rambling now._

_Thank you __**j3sS**__! Hope you like this update._

_I'm glad you like it, __**iluvu**__. The whole sex with your brother thing aside (I have four brothers and can I say ick!?), I can't see anyone falling in love with their rapist unless they are a soap opera character or they have some serious issues._

_It's going to be a hard road for the Winchesters to get themselves together, __**moira4eku**__, even without YED's plotting._

_Yeah, __**Wen1**__. That pretty much sums up how Dean's feeling. Makes you want to just hug him, doesn't it? _

_-Angie_


	18. Obstacles

**Obstacles**

I woke up with two hundred plus pounds of snoring Sammy on top of me. I wish I could say that it was the fact that I was probably slowly suffocating underneath him or the protests from my ribs that woke me up, but it wasn't. It was a nightmare. I dreamed that I arrived to find Dean dead… wrists slit from the heal of his hand almost up to the elbow, the way you did it when you were damn serious, the way he'd tried to do it the day before. That had been damn close. I should have been here, saving my own damn kid. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on the fact that Dean was _alive_. Bobby had gotten to him in time.

My heart was hammering away in my throat and I couldn't breathe under my son's weight, my broken ribs throbbing. I shifted until he slid completely off me, sprawled out on the bed. Dean drooled and Sammy sprawled. I smiled at that and smoothed down his too long hair – stubborn ass kid looked like a reject from the damn sixties – and tried to ignore the shaking of my hands. It was almost seven o'clock in the morning, and I'd slept for nearly six hours. I guess my body was fed up with me ignoring its need to sleep. I left the room quietly, even though I was pretty sure nothing was waking Sammy up until the drugs ran out of his system.

I was shocked to see Dean sitting at the kitchen table, a shot glass in front of him and a nearly full bottle of vodka sitting next to it. I froze for a second as I studied him. He was looking down at his hands laying on the table, still bandaged, and annoyed expression on his face.

"Dean?"

"Hey Dad." He didn't sound or look surprised at the sound of my voice, so he knew I was there. He knew the sound of my footsteps, the length and rhythm of my gait just like I knew his and Sammy's. His voice sounded like it hadn't been used in days, which it hadn't, and he wouldn't look me in the eye. I was so relieved to hear that voice that if I were a more emotional man, I might have kissed him. Instead I sat down at the table next to him, my elbow a solid weight against his on the scarred surface.

"Where's Bobby?"

Dean shrugged a little. "I heard him lurkin'. I think he's tryin' to give me space or somethin'."

I smirked. That was Bobby. For all that he could be a complete sarcastic pain in your ass, he could also be unobtrusive and still right there when you needed him. "What're you doin' down here, son?"

"Well, the original intention was to get a drink, but," he held up his hands, "I seem to have this whole mummy thing goin' on with my hands. I was considerin' gnawing the damn bandages off when you showed up." Poor kid's voice sounded like a hundred miles of unpaved road. The alcohol would probably burn like hell goin' down and I should really get him some warm milk or tea with honey to sooth it instead. But I could understand the value of a stiff drink too, even when it wasn't exactly advisable. Sometimes especially when it wasn't advisable. Hell, I never said I wanted to be father of the year anyway. Not that I was ever in the running.

I picked up the bottle to take a closer look. It wasn't vodka after all. It was Jose Cuervo Silver. I got up and got a second shot glass. After we were done, I'd change Dean's bandages – there was more bleed through – but first I had to take care of a different type of wound. I sat my shot glass next to his and poured us both doubles. "How you doin' kid?"

He let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a huff. "Been better," he said honestly. I glanced over at him and noticed that he was staring down at his hands again. "'M sorry."

"Dean…"

"I know, I know. Stop apologizin'. I just… I feel numb, Dad. Like I got nothin' left. And that's when I'm not in so much pain that it hurts to fucking breath." He looked up at me sheepishly from beneath his eyelashes. Girly lashes I'd called them when he was born, feeling ridiculously proud of myself as if I alone had been responsible for the tiny red thing squirming in my arms. Just like I felt responsible for everything that happened to him after that day. His eyes returned to the table and he cleared his throat. "You know what I did? What I… what I _tried_ to do?"

"Yeah. I know, kiddo."

"I'm a coward, Dad," his voice was quivering and even hoarser then it started out. He pushed his untouched shot glass away with an angry swipe of his hand, the alcohol sloshing out a little, wetting his bandages. Damn, that had to sting, but the kid didn't even flinch. "I'm sorry for that. And sorry that I'm a sad excuse for a son and sorry that it didn't work and sorry that I tried it in the first place…"

Dean's brave façade crumbled right in front of me into heart wrenching sobs as he pressed the heels of his bandaged hands against his eyes as if trying to keep the tears in. I put my arms around him and let him cry until he tired himself out. When he was finally done, his breathing was hitched and labored. "Just breathe, son. Just breathe. That's it. Everything's gonna be alright."

He pushed me away and I wasn't prepared for the angry glare he gave me. "You always say that! I believed you before, and look at us now! Nothing's alright Dad!" He looked away and sagged into his chair as if that small act of defiance had taken all the energy he had left.

Damn. I always knew the time would come when Dean's faith in me would be shaken, but this was so not the fucking time. I sighed. "I wish… I wish I knew all the answers. I wish I knew all the right things to do, all the right words to say. I wish I knew how to keep you and your brother safe from all the evil in this world. God, I wish I did. But I don't and I'm sorry for that. I'm just… fuck Dean, I'm stumblin' around in the dark half the time and all I got to give you is the best I can and I'll give you that, ever damn day of my life. But _I_ need to believe that everything's gonna be alright for you, one way or another. That's the only thing keepin' me sane."

He shrugged and shook his head. "I really don't see how that's possible, Dad." He wiped at his tears with his bandaged hands. "But I won't try to hurt myself again. I wouldn't do that to Sammy. Kid's probably beatin' the hell out of himself as it is."

I knew he wasn't just talking about Sammy. Kid knew me too well, much better than I ever wanted him to. He just didn't think it was 'okay' to say it out loud, to imply that I _needed_ anything not even him. If worry for me and Sammy was the only thing that was going to keep him alive, then I could live with that. Hopefully, we could get to the place where it was more than that, where he really truly wanted to live. But for now, I'll take anything I can get. "Sam's strong. He'll mend. You both will."

"I don't know when I'll be able to face him again," he said it softly, but it sounded like the admission hurt. And it probably did. I'd raised them to stick together no matter what, to depend on each other. Now he was basically telling me that he couldn't be there for his brother when Sam needed him.

"I know. We both understand, Dean. Sammy just wants you to get better."

He picked up the shot glass awkwardly and emptied it. "So what's the plan, Dad? What're we… what're we doin' now?"

I snorted at the change in subject. "We do the ritual. Spend the year getting' our shit together while we figure out what to do about Azazel."

"You don't have to do that for me. I can… I can deal. I did it before."

I had to shake my head at how much he sounded like Sammy the night before. "It's not just for you, Dean. We're all pretty fucked up right now. But if it was just for you, I'd do it anyway. I'm not sacrificing you, Dean. And there's not a thing you could ever say to make me do that. Come on, kid. Let's get those bandages changed."

* * *

The rest of the day went without incident. Dean didn't try to kill himself, the circles under Sammy's eyes weren't quite so pronounced and both boys were relieved by what I told them about each other. Missouri seemed reasonably pleased with her discussions with both boys and somehow things didn't seem as bleak as they had the night before. Dean even ate some of his food without me ordering him to. And Sam only had two shots of whiskey. For the first time in weeks, impending disaster wasn't looming over the horizon. I even got a call from Ellen that evening. I hadn't really been expecting her to call me, although I hoped she would. What happened with Jo was my fault. The least I could do was give her mother advice and moral support. Besides, she hadn't given in to what had to be one of her first impulses and come after Sam's balls with a dull knife. That alone earned her brownie points with me.

"How're the boy's?"

"Still hangin' in there. Or tryin' to at least. How's Jo?"

There was a heavy sigh from the other end of the line. "She's… I don't know how to do this John. I don't think I'm strong enough for this."

I closed my eyes. I was familiar with that feeling. "I know. But what's the alternative, El?"

She let out a soft chuckle. "It's been a hell of a long time since anyone's called me 'El.'"

"Yeah, well that's mostly 'cause you threaten to knock out their teeth. But you're barks always been worse than your bite. I'm just one of the only people around who knows that."

She snorted. "Don't you go ruinin' my reputation, Winchester."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"I don't know what the hell I'm doin', here John. She's not eating, not sleeping. But she just keeps tryin' to act like nothin' happened. I don't know how to help her."

"The only thing you can do is be there for her. Never act like you think it was nothin', even when she does. Try to get her to talk to somebody, even if it's not you. If she can just get what she's feelin' out, try to get some sort of control back, it'll get easier." _If something else doesn't try to destroy her._ I just had to find a way to keep Azazel so busy that he'd leave Ellen out of any future strikes at my family.

* * *

I usually didn't get to stay during Missouri's time with either of the boys, but for some reason Dean didn't want me to leave. I think it had something to do with the dream he woke up screaming from and he just needed to feel safe. Despite his little outburst the morning before, he apparently still thought I could protect him. I hoped to god he wasn't wrong, but that's how I ended up sitting in the corner of Bobby's study while Dean and Missouri talked. Dean sat in a chair fidgeting, because aside from complete catatonia and hunting the boy couldn't be still to save his life. Never could. Missouri was sitting across from him, calm and soothing.

"How do you feel today, Dean?"

"You always ask me that."

"Because it's an important question."

"Can't you just do your thing?" He waved his hand next to his head. It was all I could do not to react because I'd had to promise not to interrupt. Of course, I was torn about what my reaction would be. Snickering because the boy still had something left of his sense of humor, or telling Dean to watch his attitude.

Missouri threw me a warning glare and I raised my hands in gesture of harmlessness. "Yes, I can… but I'd much rather you tell me."

"Well, I really don't know how the fuck I feel."I cringed at the curse word and glanced at Missouri. She seemed totally unfazed. If that had been me, she'd be after me with a wooden spoon. "Cause getting' through this second, right now, is all I can deal with, and I'm barely doin' that. So tryin' to figure out what I'm _feelin'_ is a little…"

"Overwhelming," she suggested helpfully. Who knew she could be this patient.

"Yeah. You could say that. It…"

Missouri was silent, seeming to realize what I'd learned from raising the boy, that waiting him out, waiting for him to gain the courage to say what he wanted to say, was the best way to get him to talk. He finally cleared his throat and began again. "It hurts to get out of bed and just _breathe_." He blinked at tears and looked away. "So that's all I'm concentratin' on right now. Anything else and… I just can't handle anything else yet."

"That makes sense. Have you ever tried meditation?"

"You mean that yoga crap?"

"It's not crap, Dean. And it's not just about yoga. It's about… it's about focusing on something else, something good. Finding a peaceful place in your own head."

"You mean like… like when I hunt?"

Missouri smiled. "Yes. Something like that. I can show you how if you'll let me?"

Dean gave a jerky nod. "Yeah. Okay. Hey, I'm willin' to try anything once."

After she'd sent Dean back to his room she pulled me aside. "Talkin' about it wouldn't do you any harm either, John."

"I'm fine Missouri. They're the ones who need it."

"So you haven't been having nightmares? And those dark circles under your eyes aren't from lack of sleep?"

I sighed. "I have to be strong for them right now. I can't afford to fall apart."

"That's all the more reason for you to deal with it now. You know that."

I looked away and chewed on my bottom lip. "I feel like I don't have any right to…"

"Hurt?" I felt her hand, warm against my cheek, as she turned my head to face her again. "What you saw, what you know, is enough to break any half decent parent. Especially one whose whole life revolves around their kids like yours always has. You're only okay when your boys are okay."

I nodded my head. "Yeah."

"I'm here whenever you need me. So's Bobby. Even Ellen."

"I can't lean on her like that."

"I was thinking more along the lines of mutual leaning."

"Missouri, you nearly skinned me alive when you found out about me and Ellen."

"She was married then."

"Yeah, and she's a widow now because I killed her husband!"

Missouri shrugged. "Every good relationship has its obstacles."

I had to laugh. "I think that's there's too much water under that bridge, Missouri."

She gave me one of her cryptic smiles and I shivered despite myself. What was she seeing? Did I really want to know? "Things always happen for a reason, John. Even when they don't seem to make a lick of sense. That's why I believe in God. Somebody's gotta be in charge of all this."

I snorted and walked away. Yeah. Well, if there is a God, big g, then he has to be one sadistic bastard.

"Remember what I said," she called after me. "Don't fester, John."

* * *

"We're all set."

"Okay. What needs to happen?"

"You need to lay hands on the goat, and as the head of the Winchester household, read this incantation." Bobby handed me a piece of paper with what looked like Hebrew spelled out phonetically. "Then we let it go. Well, actually, we have to drive it away."

"And that's it? This'll protect us?"

"If the legends and mythology is correct, then yeah. He has to honor it."

"And if it's not?"

The older man shrugged as if it made no difference either way. "Well, then we're up shit creek." That was why Bobby was still my friend after all these years. He never felt the need to sugar coat things. Not to mention that he was damn useful to have around in a fight.

I snorted out a laugh. "Yeah. Okay. Let's do this."

I felt a little silly, standing out in the junkyard, my hand on a goat, speaking in a language that I'd never tried to learn. Then even sillier chasing the damn thing through the yard.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" The hiss brought me up short and I looked over to see a familiar set of yellow eyes, in a shockingly familiar face. Damn. Azazel was definitely a creature of habit. He'd had that same body for over 20 years and it hadn't aged a day. Poor fucker was probably long dead. "A _scapegoat_? I haven't seen this little chestnut for over two thousand years."

I ground my teeth at the sight of him, at the sound of his eerily familiar tone. "Just take the damn thing and leave."

He moved closer to me, taking the goat by the collar as he passed it and yanking on it hard, snapping its neck. "This ain't two thousand years ago. This isn't going to stop me from coming after your boys. I've got surrogates now, and children of my own. This is only a little hiccup," he sneered. "That's all they really are, you know. _Boys_. I will break you, and them, and everyone of your friends just for fun. And I'll still get what I want out of our little Sammy in the end because you _know_ he's not one hundred percent yours. There's a bit of me in there too."

"Again with the monologuing? I swear… what the hell is it with you evil fucks? Sam is _my_ son. You can't have him!"

"But I already have him. Part of him at least. All that anger and resentment just _bursting_ at the seams to get out? That's me, that's what he inherited from Daddy number two. And I really don't mind being number two Johnny. You wanna know why?"

"Cause you're a fucking underacheiver?"

He smirked but didn't bite. "Cause as long as you can look into those eyes and see yourself, see Mary in that smile, you'll never do the smart thing and just put one in the back of Sammy's head and be done with it. You're going to keep trying to _save_ the boy until he brings on the apocalypse. Then… _then_ I'll be Daddy number one. And you'll be…" He stopped speaking and chuckled. He reminded me of an evil Mr. Rogers and I almost laughed at the realization despite my anger. "Well, you'll just be _nothin'_, won't you John boy? You and your precious little Dean-o too. But you know, if we can get our hands on him in Hell… we can turn Dean into somethin' _real _special. The boy does have potential. Makes a nice blunt instrument. But then, you already know that, doncha, Johnny?"

Words could not express how much I hated this Yellow Eyed bastard, and not just because of what he'd done to Mary, to Mary's entire family, but because of what he was trying to do to my boys. What the hell had they ever done to deserve this? What the hell had Mary or I done for that matter to call this down on their heads? Other than being too fucking naïve to draw breath. But before I could respond to the demon, he was gone, leaving behind the smell of sulfur to match the bitter taste in the back of my mouth.

"Well, that was… unpleasant." Bobby was still next to me, shotgun at the ready. Yeah. Bobby was a damn good man to have on your side when the shit hit.

"Yeah. But hopefully not unnecessary. Let's get back to the boys." My mind was going a hundred miles a minute. Surrogates. And _children_. Did he mean the special children, like Sam? Or something else? Something worse?

* * *

"It wasn't th' firs' time," Sammy said softly, his words slurred. Jesus, the boy was drunk again. Sam could never hold his liquor the way Dean could. He was a sloppy, maudlin drunk. Always had been, since the first time I'd allowed the boy to get drunk when he was sixteen. Nothing had changed much, not even the amount of alcohol it took to get him there. I eyed the half empty fifth on the table next to his elbow, wondering if he'd put up a fight if I tried to take it away. Because the next stop was passing out or throwing up. Or both.

"What wasn't the first time?"

"Tha' I've hurt Dean. No'… no' like this," he said, his s's coming out like the hiss of a snake, and he seemed to be having a hard time with the letter t." But bad enough to make it eas… eas… not too hard for him to believe what the demon tol' him. When I left for Stanford…" he paused and swallowed hard, looking at me with big doe eyes. God, the kid looked like… like a fucking _kid_. Like he needed to be tucked in and read a goddamn bedtime story. "He wouldn' even look a' me, Dad. I knew wha' I'd done to 'im, but I jus'… all the guilt I felt over it? I just channeled it inna anger. Anger atch'you for no' lettin' 'im go, anger at him for no' wantin' to leave. Anger at both o' you for every ro… rot… for every bad thing that ever happened to me. Then when Jess died, I blamed him. I actually tol' him that if he hadnna come she wouldnna died, tha' the demon followed him to me, to her. Tha' chest full of rock salt, Dad? I earned that, and I'm not talking 'bout what I did when Meg possessed me. I shot _Dean_ with rock salt about two years ago."

Yeah. Definitely time to take the bottle. I could barely understand a word he was saying. It was like he was two again and I was trying to decipher toddler. I stood up and moved the bottle away. He lurched for it, but missed, the alcohol making him too slow and uncoordinated. I ruffled his too long hair fondly. "Nope, sorry kid. You're cut off. Your liver will thank me in the morning. I know about what happened at the asylum Sammy… Dean told me about it. Son… I know your relationship with your brother hasn't always been smooth, but he knows you love him."

"Yeah? Or does he jus' love me enough for it no' to matter how I feel 'bout him. 'Cause we're all he's got, 'cause he needs me, needs _us_, too damn much. I basically told him that I hated him and tried to shot him, Dad. If he hadnna given me an unloaded weapon, he'd be dead."

Okay… now that was new. I hadn't heard anything about an unloaded weapon. Part of me was irritated that Sam couldn't tell that the gun was unloaded from the weight alone, cause seriously? But mostly, I was freaked out that Sam had pointed a gun he thought was loaded at his brother in the first place. I kept hearing Azazel in the back of my head and I didn't fucking like it. I didn't have too much time to think about it because Sammy wavered in his chair and I caught him just in time for him not to face plant on the floor. Passed out. I wasn't sure if I was grateful that I wouldn't have to fight to get him into bed or not. Dean was a fucking party on wheels when he was drunk, unless he was in a mood. Sammy was never fun when he was drunk. Never.

"Bobby," I called out, just loud enough for him to hear in his study. "Come give me a hand with gigantor over here."

* * *

"Do you… do you think it's time I finally faced Sammy, Dad?"

I froze for a second underneath the Impala. On the one hand, I was relieved that Dean was already talking about seeing his brother again, maybe giving him some absolution. On the other, I was fucking terrified that it would backfire. I figured there were only so many times that I'd be able to piece my boys back together again. And I really wanted to find out about the empty gun thing Sammy'd mentioned the night before, but that probably wasn't the best thing to bring up right now. Missouri would be no help because she always flat out refused to tell me anything that she got out of my boys, psychly or otherwise. "That's somethin' only you can decide, Dean-o."

"Yeah. I kinda figured you were gonna say that."

I slide out from under the car and wiped my hands with the rag on the floor next to me, stalling for time. I looked up at Dean, shuffling his feet on the greasy floor of the garage, bandaged hands stuffed into the big pockets of the sweatshirt he was wearing. "You worked hard before, to get to the place that you could leave on your own, without backup. You'll have to work hard for this too, son. Ain't fair, I know, but you're old enough to realize that nothin' is."

He nodded, staring at the car and swallowing hard and instead of responding, changed the subject. "I wish I could help out with the car."

"You're hands'll heal soon enough. Everything heals soon enough."

"Even…"

"Even what, son?"

He cleared his throat. "Even Mom dying?"

I huffed out a soft laugh. "Yeah. Even that. Healing doesn't mean that it won't sometimes ache before a storm, or leave a bitter taste in your mouth at the memory. Given enough time, son, everything heals."

It was true. Mary's death hadn't been an open wound for me in so long I often forgot what it felt like when it was. It usually only came up when I saw someone else suffering the same way. No, most of my problems always had to do with how the hell I was going to manage to protect Dean and Sam, and trying to deal with everything that I'd been slowly learning about Sam. If anything could mess somebody's head up, it was what I'd learned about my youngest boy. I had no doubt that the way I'd raised my sons had screwed them up, hell I saw the proof of that every day. My only hope was that I'd done enough good in the process to outweigh it.

"Will you be there? When I talk to Sam?"

"If that's what you want."

* * *

Bobby called me intot his office the minute I walked into the house after a sparring session with Dean - and I was really too damn old to be sparing with my grown twenty soemthing year old sons. "John, I just got off the phone with Ellen. We got trouble."

I almost laughed at that. That wasn't exactly news. When the hell didn't we have trouble? "What kind?"

"The hunters-killing-humans-with-special-powers kind."

I froze, my heart in my throat. "These hunters got names?"

"Yeah, and one of 'em we know personal. Gordon. He's been askin' around 'bout Sam, John."

"How the hell would he… how could he have figured that out?"

"Best I can figure, it was the fire that did it. The timing fits for 'em all. This house is demon proof, John. It ain't hunter proof."

"We'll leave. Find somewhere else to hole up."

"Damn it Winchester, don't you pack those boys up and go traipsing off to parts unknown."

"But I can't bring that to your doorstep."

"You and those boys are all the family I got, John." His voice was raw with emotion, a rarity for Bobby. He was about as stoic as they came. Unless he was angry, then he was about as stoic as a wet cat. "You can't tell me I ain't got a right to fight for my family."

"I can't ask you to die for us, Bobby."

"No… but then I ain't plannin' on dyin'. Doin' a little killin' definitely, but dyin' was never part of the plan. Now stop talkin' nonsense so we can figure out what we're doin' next."

Yeah. A damn good man to have at your back when the shit hits.

* * *

A/N:

Thanks **DeanBean**! Yeah, they're just all so broken right now.

Glad you like the last chapter **rog457**. Dean's not dealing with much yet. But he loves his brother.

I think Ellen's just numb right now, **babyreaper**. I gave you a little insight here… I wasn't really ready to try to get in his head enough to write his pov, plus there were things happening that I wanted to write about that he wasn't there for – like Sam's drunken confession and Azazel's little part. So I'm not a complete coward…

Angst is what the Winchesters do best, **smartassmusicjunkie94**. And I always like the possibility of John and Ellen. Oh, and I read your story idea for the Supernatural/Dark Angel merged world… and I have to say that if you don't write it now that you've gotten me all interested, I'll have to hunt you down and do you grave bodily harm. I'm even volunteering to help if you need it. That's how much I want you to write it…

I have no idea how John functions with as much guilt as he's carrying around, **greendaypumpkin**.

I'm glad you loved the last chapter, **BeccaWestLifeAddict**, and I hope this one lives up to your expectations. I love writing John, mostly because despite the fact that we got to see so little of him on the show and the man casts a big shadow. Even now, two years after his death, he might as well be a main character. Let's see… do I mind you reccing me on your sight so that a lot of other people will come and read my story. Hmmm… that's a hard call. Of course I don't mind! I actually really appreciate it! Now, I'm gonna go try to screw up my courage for the Dean/Sam reunion. Sigh…

Yeah, **NongPradu**, I had to take care of Jo, and John's so responsible – almost to the point of absolute dysfunction – that he couldn't just leave it alone. Poor man needs a soft place to land. Bobby suspects although I think it would be hard for your mind to really go there, especially with someone like Dean, and Missouri knows because Sam told her. I know… what happened to Sam is horrible. It was a kind of rape too. Both boys are broken, and they won't be indulging in any 'sexual healing' with each other. Gah! And yeah, we all like the hopefulness that babies bring along with them, don't we?

I figure we need a little sweetness now and then, **redgriffen**, just to take the edge off all the pain and sadness. John was never a raging ass to the boys on the show… I can't figure out why people keep insisting on writing him as one. Sure, he wasn't all cuddly, but he wasn't Jack the Ripper. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter.

Thanks **Yammy**! You sound like Missouri with the John/Ellen cheerleading. ;-).

I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you did the last on, **talon81**. And, yeah, I've got my work cut out for me. But we'll get there. Eventually.

Thank you, **Shinigami061**! I liked the John/Ellen scene more than I thought I would.

Poor Ellen doesn't really have a clue, **moira4eku**. She just knows how much John loves his sons and how easily he ends up wreaked with guilt when something happens to them. From what little I was able to analyze (and yes, I spend way too much time analyzing the shows and movies I watch), Ellen is a lot like Mary beyond just the obvious thing about coloring. And I think she still kind of has a thing for him. And Azazel's not just gonna take his toys and go home…

-Angie


	19. Failure

**Failure**

Bobby tossed me a short string of large dark beads. I couldn't tell if they were black, dark blue or dark brown. The color seemed to shift with the light. "Buyin' me jewelry now? I know I'm pretty, but you got the wrong equipment."

Bobby snorted out an unamused laugh. "Whatever, Winchester. It's an early warning system in case we get some unwanted visitors."

I regarded the string of beads in my hand again. It didn't look like much, but it was warm in my hand, warmer than it should be, and the skin on my arm was beginning to goose bump. "What kinda hoodoo have you been into?"

"Like I said, early warning system. It's a harmless little spell. Put it on your wrist and the beads'll vibrate if someone with malicious intent steps on the property."

"A spell that discerns intent doesn't sound so little to me."

"Discerns? Oh, I get all tingly when you use five dollar words like that."

I roiled my eyes at Bobby's sarcasm. "And _beads_, Bobby? You actually want me to wear a bracelet made outta beads?"

He held up his wrist. "I have one too."

"Yeah, well I'm not changin' my name. Guess that means you'll have to be Bobby Winchester."

Bobby finally gave a real laugh. "And you wonder why Dean's such a smartass."

I gave him my most blinding smile. "Actually, no. I always knew he came by it honestly. But you still love me. Got any more of these for the boys?"

He did and I was glad to see Dean bitch about it almost as much as I had. Boy still had a long way to go before he was anywhere near normal, but it was good to see some things were back the way they should be. Over the next few days we put traps around the house and yard, nasty things that would incapacitate anyone trying to sneak around. Hopefully no teenagers would come sneaking around anytime soon to pull pranks or on a dare. Cause a teenager maimed by a bear trap would be kinda hard to explain to the police.

* * *

"Dean?"

The boy blinked and shook himself, the emptiness in his eyes slowly disappearing. I hated it when he drifted off like that, which was often. He was speaking again, but that didn't mean that he still didn't slip away sometimes, get lost somewhere in his own mind for hours at a time. "Sir?"

"Can you make me another EMF reader? The last one you made me got smashed back in Topeka. I've been meanin' to ask you for a while. Damn store bought ones ain't for shit compared to the ones you make."

He snorted, the closest he'd come to a laugh in over two months. "You're hard on the equipment, old man."

I laughed. "Bit like the pot callin' the kettle black, son."

"No comparison, dude. In the past five years you've gone through eight EMF readers – and that's if your store bought one's the only replacement that you've gotten that I didn't make for you – two compasses and three shotguns. How the hell do you break a _shotgun_?"

"'S not my fault that things like to throw me."

"Yeah, well just be thankful that they seem to want to throw you on your equipment instead o' on your head."

I smiled broadly. "Least you got a hard head. That's something to be grateful for."

He just shook his head and snorted.

* * *

We had Sam and Dean on tight schedules. When one was outside, the other was inside. When one was upstairs, the other was downstairs. It helped that Dean's fascination with cars matched my own and Bobby had a couple of really sweet classics that needed overhauling. It also helped that Sammy still loved to read. Bobby offloaded a lot of his researching duties onto the kid, so he spent most of his time buried in books in Bobby's study. Bobby, Missouri and I ran interference since at least one of us was with the boys at all times. Both of them knew what we keeping them apart but never asked about it. Even I was impressed that we could keep it up for so long. But it helped to have a psychic coordinating.

I was sitting in the kitchen with Sammy, making sandwiches, thinking how strange it was to see so much of myself in him. I knew that look in his eyes. I'd seen it in mine more times than I could count when I'd been stuck in the quagmire of self-pity. It's a damn hard place to escape. If I had known what Yellow Eyes was, if I'd somehow managed to kill him when the boys were still young. I could play that game all damn year. If, if, if. Most dangerous fucking word in the English language you ask me. You can change any one of a thousand facts and circumstances and have a whole new game. But it is what it is, and we got the game we got. Regret won't do a damn thing other then waste time and make you fucking useless.

"Sammy. We need to talk."

He put down the sandwich he was about to lay into and gave me his full attention. "Yes sir?"

"Your brother mentioned something to me about talking to you a little while back. I don't know if he's ready yet… but I don't need to tell you how stubborn he is when he gets an idea in his head and thinks it's for our own good."

"If he's not ready, then he shouldn't…" I could hear the disappointment in his voice, and the effort he was making to try to hide it. I was used to that from Dean, but not really from Sammy. He had never been big on taking one for the team. Maybe he'd finally grown up, figured out that what was best for him wasn't necessarily good for everyone else. "I can wait to see him till the time's right for him. I might wish we could just go back to the way things were, but I know we can't."

"Told him that you'd be willin' to wait as long as he need to. He's held off a few weeks, I think maybe Missouri encouraged him to wait a little longer, but I'm not sure how long that's gonna last. He's worried about you. About how him stayin' away like this is effectin' you."

He shook his head and stared at the table. It was really starting to bother me how neither of my boys looked me in the eye anymore. "I'm the last thing he should be worried about. He should be concentratin' on gettin' better."

"Yeah. But we're family, Sammy. You're doin' the same thing. You want to see him, lean on him. But you don't do it, you stay away because you want him to get better. Part o' me thinks that this could end up one great big disaster. That we'll just keep sacrificing for each other until there's nothin' left of any of us to sacrifice. But another part o' me? I think that we can find the strength to keep going in each other. These past twenty odd years, you think it was revenge that kept me going? That got me out of bed and made me learn to hunt when all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and disappear? It was you and Dean. The two of you needed me. And even when it was all I could do to make sure you were fed and sheltered, I still pushed myself to do it. I'd've been dead a long time ago if it weren't for the two of you. If you can find that kind of strength in each other then maybe that's what you need."

He let out a little huff. "That's possibly the longest speech you've ever given."

I snorted. "Yeah, well don't get used to it."

"I've been doin' a lot of thinkin' Dad. I… I never understood before. All that time I complained about how you raised us, and all of it was to protect me and Dean. If it hadn't been for me, none of it would have been necessary and I was the one who gave you all the grief… you just took it. I mean, sure we fought, but you never blamed me. Never once did you let it slip that any of it was my fault."

"How long is it gonna take for you to get it through your thick skull that it's not your fault?"

"See, that right there's what I'm talkin' about, Dad. I've spent my entire life judgin' you and faulting you. And now I find out that you had much more reason to do that to me but you never did. Now… now I swear, I can't see where I would have done things any different then you did. Makes me feel like the world's biggest bastard 'cause now I have to admit that I misunderstood you the entire time and that I was just as wrong about you as I was about Dean."

I blinked at Sam for a moment, tempted to whisper _Cristo_ just to make sure it was really him. It would have been funny two months ago, but now it would have been downright hurtful. I had resigned myself to the idea that Sam would never fully understand or appreciate everything that I'd done. That he might well live his entire life hating me, or at least resenting the hell out of me. Now here he was not only saying he understood but freaking agreed with me. "Can I get that in writing?"

He snorted out a little laugh, first laugh in two months that wasn't all pain and bitterness. "Yeah, I know. Next thing you know, pigs are gonna start flying."

I reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "We'll get through this. Somehow. You and Dean are strong. Always have been. I never had a damn thing to do with that."

"Yeah. Right. Where do you think we got it from?"

I shrugged. "Not so sure about that, kiddo."

"You do realize that it's probably only a matter of time before we're arguing again, right?"

"Yeah. Both too pigheaded not to."

"I think… maybe we can… we can keep it more civil. I won't say anything that makes you want to take me over your knee and you don't say anything that makes me want to leave and never come back."

"Think that can be arranged. I mean, since you've disabused yourself of the notion that my main purpose in life is to ruin yours and all."

He snorted again. "Watch it old man."

"Who're you callin' old? Last time I checked, I could still beat your ass at sparing."

"But you always pay for it later. I know about the long salt baths, Dad."

I shrugged carelessly. "Winning's still winning. Even if you are sore as hell afterwards." Sammy snorted and shook his head. "Look, I know I'm probably about to push my luck on this whole civil thing we've been doing lately," he looked at me wearily from underneath his bangs – _bangs_, on a grown man… I had to grit my teeth to avoid saying anything. "You gotta stop beatin' up on yourself over what happened."

"But… how?"

"You just have to figure out how to let it go. I know. Easier said than done. Most things are. But you gotta figure it out."

"What if I can't?"

"Then Azazel wins. You can't fight a war if you're constantly lookin' over your shoulder wishin' things were different."

* * *

"Stop your pacin', John Winchester! You're makin' _me_ nervous."

I offered Missouri an apologetic smile that didn't amount to much more then curling up onside of my mouth to bare my teeth and sat down for the third time. "Sorry."

We sat in silence for a few minutes as I picked at the hem of my shirt and avoided her gaze. She finally gave a heavy sigh. "Yes!"

"What?"

"If you're not gonna talk, I figured I'd just answer the question that you've been thinkin' the loudest for the past two months. You're boys _are_ gonna be alright."

I frowned at her. "It's annoying when you do that."

"It's annoying when you sit there and don't talk."

"You know that for sure? That they'll be alright?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"They're you're boys, aren't they? They're too stubborn not to be alright." Her tone was so matter of fact, it sounded like she was stating some scientifically proven fact. I briefly wondered when she of all people started believing my press.

"I screwed up a lot with them when they were growin' up… hell, I screw up a lot with 'em now. If they're ever alright again, I'm not sure how much I'll have to do with it."

"You did the only thing that anybody can be expected to do. The best you could with what you had. Dean never would have gotten over it if he hadn't been with you. He would have seen it as rejection. Somethin' like that so soon after his mamma died… and losin' Sammy if they got split up. Did you tell them that's why you started runnin' in the first place? 'Cause they were gonna take them away from you?"

I shook my head, trying not to remember what that felt like. Fear so thick and overwhelming that I could taste it in the back of my mouth. Somehow I'd just known that the worst thing that could ever happen was for the boys to be taken from me. I withdrew my savings, packed up the boys and what meager belongings we had managed to scavenge or buy after the fire, and took off. To this day I'm not sure if it was selfishness because they were all I had left, or some paternal instinct that kicked in. "No. Never. Felt too much like failure."

"And you never wanted to show them you could fail."

"How can they trust somebody who fails so spectacularly so often with their lives?"

"Especially when that someone has such a low tolerance for failure."

"If all you're gonna do is point out all the ways I've fu- screwed up, then I can spare you the time. I hear all this from my conscience enough. Thanks." I started to stand up.

"John… sit," she said mildly. I complied with a heavy sigh. "I don't want to go over all your failures. All I'm sayin' is you're a hard man for them to live up to. That's why they have a hard time looking you in the eye. They feel like they've failed and John Winchester doesn't do failure. Or weakness."

"That's not true."

She shrugged. "Is to them."

"So, what, you want me to bare my soul? Recount every fuck up in my past?"

"Language John!"

I barely refrained from pointing out that she obviously let Dean swear, but that would just sound childish. "Sorry."

"Grown man jealous of his own son. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Stop that!"

"You don't have to confess everything you've ever done. Just… let them know that it's okay to be human."

"I thought that's what I was doin' here, Missouri. We wouldn't even be in this situation if it weren't for me. I let them down so many different times in so many different ways. All the trust that I see in Dean's eyes just kills me. Sometimes I think about what his life would have been like if I weren't around to fuck it up. If he'd been younger when Mary died, young enough to forget us, I would have left him with someone who could have taken better care of him. He wouldn't have a million scars, he wouldn't be sittin' upstairs afraid to be in the same room with his own brother, he wouldn't think I'm punishing him every time I leave. And yet, he trusts me. The weight of that is heavier than anything you could ever imagine."

"And Sammy? What would he have done growing up without Dean?"

I snorted. "Good question. He probably would have run away from home by the time he was fourteen. Couple years after our relationship went south. But Dean shouldn't be sacrificed just so Sam and I can keep our… _crap_ together better. Just because I was too much of a fucking idiot to realize what was going on with Mary and that Yellow Eyed son of a…" I wiped my mouth with my hand, badly wanting a drink just to calm my nerves. "Sammy shouldn't have had to grow up on the run or wake up to see his girlfriend pinned to the ceiling. None of it ever should have happened. I should have found some way to protect my family."

"What about Mary?"

"What about her?"

"She didn't have some responsibility to protect your family? She was a hunter. She _knew_ what was happenin'."

My eyes narrowed as I regarded the woman across from me. She couldn't possibly be trying to blame Mary for what happened. "She didn't know what he wanted."

"But she knew that he wanted _somethin'_. That she'd have to pay up after ten years. If a demon came to you and said that it wanted to come to your house in ten years and all you had to do was not interfere, you wouldn't think it just wanted to rearrange the furniture, would you?"

She was right. I knew she's right. Mary _should_ have known better. But she was scared and desperate. Desperation can make people do really stupid things. I know I'd been there more times than I could count. No, Mary didn't deserve the blame for the complete clusterfuck that was our lives since she'd died. "Don't go there Missouri."

"Why not?"

"Mary died trying to _protect_ Sammy. She never would have done anything to hurt our boys."

"No. But neither would you. Even when you do things that make me want to throttle you half to death, you do them for the right reasons. Because you love your sons. Just like Mary loved you. You need to take your own advice and forgive yourself, John. Give yourself the same permission to be human that you give Mary and Dean and Sam. This is no more your fault than it is theirs."

I blinked at her for a second, then chuckled softly, more than a little impressed. "Damn, you're tricky."

"Humph." Her eyes were twinkling despite the stern expression on her face. "You're just lucky I left my wooden spoons at home."

* * *

Dean'd just gotten ready to spar a little before settling down with one of the cars for the afternoon. He stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other, one of his well-worn sneakers making an almost imperceptible squeaking noise that set my teeth on edge. He always kept his sneakers till they were falling apart. He said that they were the most comfortable just before they became unwearable. I smirked at that as I squinted at his face. He was wearing the expression he always did when he wanted to tell me something he didn't think I'd want to hear. "Well, what is it?"

"I think I should… I want to talk to Sammy. Just for a minute."

I took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

"Will you be there?"

"Told you I would if you wanted me to."

He practically sagged with relief. "Thanks Dad."

I wanted to tell him not to thank me yet. Instead I put my hand on his shoulder. "He's in Bobby's study researchin' a hunt for Caleb." We were at the door of Bobby's study when I spoke again. "If you say you're ready for this, then you're ready for this. I'm right here."

He looked up at me and gave me a small smile and a nod. I could feel him steeling himself to open the door, to face Sammy for the first time since that day in the deserted bar two months ago. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, putting into practice what Missouri had shown him. When he reached for the door knob, his hand only trembled a little and he made no move to actually enter the room once the door was open.

"Hey Sammy."

"Dean!" Both Sam and Bobby looked up, but it was Sammy who spoke first. He was shocked and I could see the strain in his posture as he kept himself from closing the distance between him and Dean.

"I just wanted to tell you… I don't blame you, okay? I know it wasn't you. I just need you to know that. You gotta stop blamin' yourself, Sammy."

Sammy gave a one shouldered shrug and a small smile that was probably meant to reassure, but just came off as sad. "Easier said than done. But I'm tryin'."

"It wasn't you, Sammy. I wish I could be there for you right now, help you with this. I… It's not your fault, though. It's the demon, _it_ did this to us. I swear I won't let it win. I just… I need time, okay? Can you give me that?"

"Of course I can. I just… Dad and Bobby and Missouri are all helpin' me just like they're helpin' you. I'm sorry for… God, just everything, man. I wish I could go back and undo it all."

"You're my pain in the ass kid brother, man," he said a small smile quirking his lips and I've never been prouder to be Dean Winchester's father in my life. "It wasn't you. If it had been, I just woulda kicked your ginormous ass and called it a day."

Sammy nodded his head and snorted out a small laugh. "You're such a jerk, Dean."

Dean's smile stretch a little wider. "You're such a little girl, Samantha." He started to close the door but stopped. "And try to get some sleep tiger, okay?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'll do that."

I followed my oldest son out of the house onto the porch. "That was a good thing you did for your brother, Dean-o."

He looked at me for a second before looking away and shrugging. "I'm a Winchester, right?" As if that said it all. Maybe Missouri was right. Maybe it did.

I chuckled softly. "That you are, son. That you definitely are." I patted his shoulder before giving it a brief, light squeeze. "Ready for your ass-kicking now?"

He snorted. "Yeah, we'll see whose ass gets kicked this time."

* * *

"Are you sure the boys are ready for this, John?"

I regarded Bobby silently for a moment before canting my head to the side. I'd asked myself that a thousand times, but the answer was still the same. "They have to be."

"But they're still on the mend. This could set 'em back."

"You think I don't know that? Much as I know you love my boys, I'm their _father_ Bobby. The choice right now is crystal clear. I keep 'em alive or I fuckin' mollycoddle 'em and kiss their asses goodbye."

"I would just like to see 'em get better before they're thrown back into the deep end again, is all."

"And you think I wouldn't?" I fought to keep my temper reigned in. The quickest way to get my dander up may be to threaten my boys, but the second was definitely to question my decisions concerning their welfare.

"I know you would too. It's just that you never had any objectivity with those boys, John. You always pushed 'em right to their limits. Sometimes beyond."

I wanted to put my fist through a wall. He wanted me to be _objective_ about my sons? "They'd never be as good as they are now if I hadn't. Hunting's like an _instinct_ with those boys now, like _breathing. _Sammy was away for four years, and he barely missed a beat gettin' right back into it. Even with all that? It only took a week for some lackey of Azazel's to tear them to pieces. They can barely _look_ at each other, they can barely sleep through the night. We can't afford to give the bastard another shot. None of us would survive it."

Bobby huffed out a loud breath of air, essentially a sign of surrender. He was probably arguing more with his own conscience then with me anyway. "It ain't fair."

"No, it ain't. But it is what it is. And I'll be damned if I let either of my boys go without a fight."

"So… what's the plan again?"

I nodded. Bobby was the best man I knew. But he was unwilling to take the risks I was, especially with the boys. But I always like to think that if he had the limited range of choices I had, if he had all the facts and knowledge that I'd gained and if he was truly in charge, he'd make the same decisions I did. Of course, I could just be shitting myself. I could just be the biggest bastard on the planet with a really big capacity for denial. I swear sometimes I feel like it. I gave him a stiff nod and ignored the fear of making another mistake creeping through my guts.

"The cult Sammy told me about. We need to infiltrate it."

"How the hell are we gonna do that?"

I gave him a smile that was all teeth. "Very carefully."

He laughed softly. "I swear. You Winchesters are gonna be the death of me."

"Admit it, Singer. You'd be bored to tears without us."

"Yeah. There's this old Chinese proverb about what a blessing it is to live in boring times. Guess that means I'm cursed with ya."

* * *

I was pinned down, my arms useless. My eyes watered at the pain radiating through my body. The presser keeping me pinned was too tight, so tight that I could barely breathe and I could feel my bones starting to give. Azazel had Sammy… Sammy's eyes were glowing yellow and he was cooperating with the bastard, letting himself be led away.

I grit my teeth against the pain and yelled out. "You can't have him!"

"You're always saying that, Johnny," The demon drawled, his tone amused and slightly disapproving. It made me want to beat him to death. Come to think of it the yellow-eyed bastard always sounded amused, like this whole thing was just one big game that he was having the best time in the world playing. "Just who are you tryin' to convince? Me… or yourself?"

I woke up in a cold sweat. Dean was next to me, breathing steady but not quite right for sleep. "It's okay, kid. I know you're awake."

"What were you dreamin' about?"

I considered brushing it off, telling him it was nothing, but maybe Missouri was right. I always thought that revealing weakness to my boys would make it harder for them to be strong when they needed to be. But maybe they needed to know that it was okay to be afraid. Maybe then they'd look me in the eyes again. I took a deep breath and started talking before I could talk myself out of it. "Azazel. When we did the scapegoat thing, he said some things. Can't get 'em outta my head."

"Things about Sammy."

"Yeah. Son of a bitch seemed to think it was only a matter of time…"

I felt Dean shift a little in the dark until I could feel his arm pressed against mine. "Sam's ours, Dad. We'll find a way to keep him safe."

I smiled at my son's attempt to comfort me. It was more effective than I thought it would be. "Yeah… yeah."

* * *

_A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update. This has been ready for almost a week, but due to circumstances beyond my control, I've had no internet access since Tuesday. And I had to (gasp!) get dial-up just to post this. I will never take broadband for granted again… dial-up takes forever!_

_I honestly think everyone loves Bobby, __**Yammy**__. John, Sam and even Dean have haters, but I haven't seen anyone hating on Bobby._

_You're welcome, __**requitv**__. Bobby completely deserves his own fan club._

_In my world, __**Becca**__, John is usually right ;-). This type of relationship is my justification for Dean falling apart after John died. It seemed like it was more than just the deal. Dean really didn't know how to _be_ without John, you know? Like his father defined who he was even in relation to Sam. I think even when he wasn't around John was always one phone call away to give him some sort of guidance, and that's why he totally freaked out and ran for Sam's help the way he did when John fell off the grid completely._

_Hope this chapter lives up to your expectations, __**moira4eku**__._

_I think concern for Sam & John are the only things that could hold the poor man together at this point, __**rog457**__. I think John's always been conflicted and messed up. Whenever we saw him onscreen, he always seemed desperate to get rid of Azazel for his son's sake to me. Hope this chap works for you._

_Yes, __**redgriffen**__, the show could use a lot more Missouri._

_The way I see it __**smartassmusicjunkiet**__, the boys are sort of going through their evolution in their views of John while he's still alive just like they did on the show after he died. Both are coming to understand him better. Sam's trusting him more because he can see what John sacrificed for him now that he knows the whole truth. Dean's realizing that John wasn't perfect, that he was closer to Batman then Superman, if that makes any sense at all. And Bobby always rocks!_

_I love drunken Sammy too, __**greendaypumpkin**__. Poor Sam's just one of those people who should never get drunk. Dean's talking a little but he's a long way from out of the woods._

_Gordon's always good for shaking things up, __**deangirl1**__. He's almost as good at it as Azazel._

_Thanks __**Aimed mischief**__!_

_Poor Sam is just beating himself up, __**Shinigami**__. He's chosen he worst possible time to come to the realization that he's been a brat. Something all of us 'babies' of the family have to realize at some point. Course, it's usually not this traumatic. John really would do anything for his little family. You can never give Bobby too much love._

_-Angie_


	20. Karma

**Karma**

I knew the instant before the beads started vibrating that something was wrong. I was too far from the house, on the far side of the yard. Damn… I didn't even realize that I'd jogged this far away, lost in my thoughts and trying not to remember anything from my nightmares. I glanced around as I headed back, trying to find the source of the prickly feeling at the back of my neck telling me that I was being watched. None of the traps would be of much use in broad daylight. Any hunter worth his salt could spot them with the sun up.

I hadn't believed that Walker would be crazy enough to come after me here, in broad daylight, but I was enough of a Winchester to be reasonably paranoid. But as Dean liked to say, is it really paranoia when somebody was actually out to get you? A shiver ran up my spine as I increased my pace. Dad had insisted that I take my gun and right now I was thankful for the weight of it at the small of my back. Dad would come looking for me… he was out here with Bobby arguing over an engine. But he had to figure out which part of the yard I was on. He'd specifically told me not to go too far just in case he had to get to me quickly. This was one time I hadn't purposely disobeyed, but it didn't make it any better.

I felt a sharp sting in my back almost before I heard the 'pfft' of a silenced gunshot. I stumbled as I reached back blindly to check the damage and my mind struggled to make sense of what was happening. I was shot… but things couldn't end like this. Dean would never get over it and Dad… the man had spent the past twenty four years trying to protect me. It took me a few precious seconds to realize that I was face down on the ground. I heard voices and felt hands moving me. Then everything faded to black.

* * *

_I became aware of my surroundings suddenly, almost like I'd just appeared here. Wherever here was. I was in a house. It was a nice house, one of those suburban ones that Dean seemed to hate so much. Then I noticed the blood. There was a lot of it splattering the walls, the floor, the furniture. Me. I turned, moving without my volition. There, sitting in the living room, were two children. They huddled together on the couch, crying. Their crying was actually more like weak whimpering like they'd been at it for a while and were going on sheer determination. On the floor were two adults. They were clearly dead, mutilated. What the fuck? Last thing I remembered, I was at a truck stop taking a leak before getting back on the road to find my brother. Then there was all that nasty, black smock forcing its way down my throat. The oily, sulfuric taste was still a the back of my throat. I'd never seen it in person, but I'd read Dad's journal. Black smoke and sulfur meant... No…_ possession_?_

"_That's right Sammy. I got started without you. Killed mommy and Daddy all by myself. Thought you might want to join me while I send the little brats to join them."_

"_No… God no. I'm not... I won't let you."_

_It laughed. "Try to stop me. Go ahead. I dare you." I tried to move on my own, but I couldn't. Couldn't even speak or wiggle a finger. "See? That's why they call it possession, brainiac. Your ass is mine till I decide to leave. And I'm only getting started."_

* * *

I came awake slowly, feeling groggy and heavy, but otherwise uninjured. So, not dead. Unless heaven was way over-rated. Tranq dart, maybe? I kept my eyes closed and my head bowed, trying to take stock of myself before announcing to whoever was in the room with me that I was conscious. I was bound to a chair. Better than hanging from a hook or chained to a wall I guess. And it was just sad that I had real life experience with the other two to compare. Nothing felt broken, but I couldn't really check thoroughly. I could hear the ticking of a clock, and what sounded like traffic in the distance… so indoors maybe two miles from a major road. There were nature sounds closer by and I figured that I was in a wooded area not too far off a main drag.

"You wouldn't be tryin' to play possum on us, now would you, Sammy?"

I opened my eyes to a squint and studied the man in front of me. Black man, about 5'10", 170lbs., solidly built. Maybe ten years older than Dean. It looked like I was in a cabin, one door, one window and only the chair I was sitting in as far as I could tell without looking over my shoulder. And it was exactly what I couldn't see that was bothering me the most. Were we alone in this room? Was there another exit? "Only two people are allowed to call me that, and you're not one of 'em."

He laughed as if we were having a friendly conversation over a beer. "Yeah. You're Winchester's boy alright. Damn shame we're gonna have to put you down."

"Why didn't you?"

He shrugged. "Wanted to see what you know. Figure out if we could use you to track down the demon or the others like you. Try to find out what your part is in the grand scheme of things."

"You don't honestly expect me to help you."

"Don't see how you've got much of a choice, boy."

"Are you really this stupid or just so tired of living that you've decided to commit suicide by Winchester? You gotta know that Dad and Dean aren't just gonna let you get away with this."

"They'll understand after it's all over. They're just lettin' their emotions cloud their judgment. You're tainted Sam. This is the best thing for everyone concerned."

And the worst part of the whole thing? I actually agree with the son of a bitch about that last point. The rest, though, about Dean and Dad 'understanding' was definitely a sign of delusion. Even if the stupid bastard killed me, this would end far worse for him then it would for me. After everything I'd seen Dean and Dad do just to keep me alive, I couldn't even imagine what their reaction would be. Or maybe I just didn't want to. "Not too bright are you? You think killing me is going to make my family _more_ reasonable than just kidnapping me?"

"I helped them track you. I saw what you did to those people."

I winced and cursed myself for it. Never let your enemy get to you. I could practically hear Dad saying it, the slight note of exasperation in his voice he'd always get whenever I had trouble with a concept he thought I should have mastered already. "It wasn't me."

"Sure coulda fooled all the eye witnesses."

"I was possessed."

"Possessed? That doesn't answer the little question about the fire that killed your mother. And then your girlfriend. You're actually the only one that got a two for. You know that? What happened? Got into a fight with the girlfriend, lost control-"

"Shut the fuck up!" I actually pulled against the ropes binding me trying to get to the son of a bitch. The memory of Jess didn't hurt as much as it used to, but it was still a sore subject.

"What's the matter, Sammy? Did I hit a nerve?"

I clinched my jaw shut. I'd given him enough already.

"Come on, don't you wanna do this the easy way? We got ways to make you talk and I have to tell you, they aren't pleasant."

I glared at him, not trusting myself to open my mouth again.

He gave a one shouldered shrug. "Suit yourself," he said casually and left me alone for about ten minutes. I used the time to scope out the rest of the room. No more exits, and no other furniture. Just me in the middle of a room tied to a chair. Awesome.

Finally, a big guy with arms the size of my legs walked in, rolling up his sleeves. His smile reminded me of a shark. "You ready to bleed, freak."

"Sure. Why not? I was getting bored." I almost laughed at my own response before the first blow landed. I must be channeling Dean.

* * *

"_Now I see why you guys are so attached to your dicks…" the demon giggled. "Pardon the pun."_

"_Stop hurting her!"_

"_But it feels so good… I know you feel that. All that tight pressure. When was the last time sex felt this _good_?"_

_I tried to recoil back into my own mind. I'd long since stopped trying to expel the demon. It – she – was too firmly entrenched. I didn't want to know what it felt like to rape someone. Because the bitch was right… it did feel good. So good I couldn't figure out how the demon could last this long._

"_Stop… please, stop…"_

"_Don't beg, Sammy. That's Jo's job. She pretty when she begs, don't you think? Almost as pretty as she is just laying there taking it and crying softly. Think Dean did that when they raped him? Think he begged like that? Think he cried once he finally gave up and just laid there and took it? Think he felt this good?"_

_I just wanted to curl up in a ball. I was _raping_ someone. "Why are you doing this?"_

_She laughed. "Because it's fun! Watch this, Sammy."_

_I heard my voice, but it was her speaking. "You don't act like you're enjoying this, slut. It's alright. You don't have to enjoy it. Just lay there and take it. Squeeze my cock till I get off, fill you up. That's your only fucking purpose."_

_Jo just cried harder, focusing on some point over my head. She was on the floor where the demon had thrown her and ripped off her clothes. My clothes were still on and somehow that made it worse._

* * *

I'd lost all sense of time. It was dark now and I wasn't being hit at the moment. It took me a while to make sense of what that meant, the pain in my face and chest making my thinking fuzzy. Of course, I could also have a concussion. Bastard hit me in the head enough. Focus Sam. You're not being hit and it's dark. What does that mean? Does it mean anything? Does anything mean anything? _Focus_! Oh… it's been at least eight hours since I was taken. Dad, Dean and Bobby are eight hours closer to finding me. And Dad's the best tracker ever. And none of them would ever give up on me even if they should. Dad said it was a Marine thing and a family thing. Never leave a man behind.

Part of me didn't want them to find me. This was karma, justice. For everything that I did to Dean, to all those innocent people, to that poor girl I left bleeding and sobbing on the floor of a hotel room before waltzing out to the front desk and politely asking the woman behind the counter to watch out for 'my girl' while I was gone. What was her name again? Jo… I wondered how she was doing. Dad said she was with her mother, that she'd get better now. I shivered at the memory of what I'd done to her. How I'd just left her there like that, the same way my brother had been left after his attack. I remembered how angry I was, how much I wanted to do to the men who'd hurt him exactly what was being done to me now. So, yeah. Maybe I deserved this.

* * *

"_Hey bro. How's it hangin'?" The bitch was calling Dean on my phone. We were sitting in a deserted bar and she'd told me what she was planning in great detail and now I was panicking, hoping Dean wouldn't come alone, even though I knew he would. He would never wait for Dad knowing that I was in danger. And add an innocent person into the mix and it was pretty much a lock._

"_What the hell are you, and what are you doing with my brother?" The dangerous growl of my brother's voice almost made me feel better, almost lulled me back into the fantasy that Dean was invincible._

_The demon laughed. "I'm doing all sorts of things with your baby brother. Right now I'm about to do a few things to this waitress. He's so versatile. As far as meat suites go, I've got to say he's one of my favorites. Right up there in the top five."_

"_Where are you?"_

"_I'm across the street, Dean. Better hurry." The demon hung up. "Won't be long now. You'll be able to add what your big brother feels like to your list of new experiences."_

"_Fuck you," I ground out._

"_No… fuck _Dean_. That is the point of this little exorcise, isn't it?"_

"_He'll kill you."_

"_Will he? Or does he love baby bro enough to just lay there and take it? Guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we Sammy."_

"_Dad'll kill you."_

"_After spending all this time protecting you? But then Dean _is_ the favorite, isn't he? The golden boy. Maybe he will try to end you for what we're gonna do. Or maybe I'll just kill him. How about that, Sammy? I break your brother and kill your daddy and leave you to clean up the mess? Oh. That sounds like _fun_."_

* * *

"Sam!"

I jerked awake. What the hell? When did I fall asleep and how long was I out? "Dean?" Damn, was that my voice? And my mouth felt sore and swollen.

There was a soft chuckle. "Sorry to disappoint. He won't be coming for you, Sam. Nobody will."

Nobody? That was impossible. My family wouldn't just give up on me unless… My heart started pounding in my throat. "What did you do to them?" I ignored the pain in my face as I spoke.

"Don't be so melodramatic, Sam. Nothin's happened to them. And nothin' will as long as you tell me what I want to know."

"I don't know anything you stupid son of a bitch!" My eyes were burning and my vision was blurry. It took me a minute to realize I was almost crying. Crying! Dad would be mortified. I actually laughed at the thought.

"What's so funny?"

"You are. You're an idiot, Walker. You're as good as dead. I don't give a fuck what you do to me, but my family won't let you just walk away. You're only chance is to run now and hope you find a hole deep enough to hide in."

"I'm trying to save the world here!" He screemed in my face, as if he couldn't understand why I was being so unreasonable. Why the hell did every crazy son of a bitch want to pick on me?

"Yeah, well I hope you're willin' to die for it."

* * *

_Dean was standing outside the back door of the bar on the phone when the demon spotted him. Calling Dad. That made me feel better. Maybe he could hold his own long enough for Dad to make it here. The demon pulled the phone out of his hands and threw it on the ground, smashing it under the heel of my boot._

"_Dean, Dean, Dean… that's _cheating_."_

_Dean's eyes widened a little. "Cristo."_

_The demon flinched and I felt nausea roll through my body. Dean's eyes went almost comicly wide. She laughed. "That's right. Baby brother is possessed." She grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him against the door. "We're gonna go inside now and play a little game. It's called how much do you love your baby brother." She pressed me against him, rubbed my erection against his crotch. "'Cause he sure loves you and he's just _dying_ to show you how much."_

"_Get the hell out of my brother, you sonovabitch!"_

"_Make me, slut." Dean flinched. "That what they call you when they fucked you in that alley? Gonna show Sammy what they did to you? Let him hear the noises you made?"_

_Dean slammed his forehead into my nose, making the demon stagger back a little. Then he kneed me in the groin… and fuck this was on a whole different level then sparing. The demon recovered quickly even though I could still feel the pain reverberating through my body. She grabbed his arm as he threw a right cross and threw him into the wall. Dean hit it with a thud and fell hard. Before he could recover she began stomping him._

"_Stop it, you bitch! You're killing him!"_

"_Don't worry. I don't wanna kill him. Just break him a little. I'll give him back once I'm done. Promise."_

_She hauled him up by his collar and dragged him through the back door of the bar. "You know," she was saying as she pulled him into the main room, "Sammy and I were talking and we decided that we wanted to take you right here." She slammed him over the bar, one hand on the back of his head. When had my hand gotten that fucking huge? "Would you like that? Wait till you feel just how big your brother is."_

"_Get off me!" He was trying to fight again, but the demon was too strong and he had just gotten the shit kicked out of him._

"_How about I get you off? How does that work for you? Doesn't matter though… Sammy'll get off and that's the important part isn't it, Dean-o?"_

"_No!" He was trying to push himself off the bar._

"_Oh, come on Dean. You gave it up for a whole group of strangers. Little brother wants his turn at that tight little ass now. God knows you're just about worthless for anything else. No friends, no home, not even a high school diploma. Just Daddy's good little doggie hoping for a bone or a scratch on the head. Bet you couldn't even make it on your own. But with all the practice you've had, I bet you're one hell of a fuck. Well if all else fails, you could always make a living on your back."_

"_Dad's coming, bitch!"_

"_Why do we have to wait for him? Can't you just exorcise me yourself? Oh… that's right. You didn't even bother to memorize the exorcism. Damn, you really are fucking worthless, aren't you? But I'll let you in on a little secret. Even if you had memorized it, it still wouldn't do you any good. I bound myself to Sammy. Until I'm ready to go, the only way to get rid of me is to kill Sam. And not just kill him… you'd have to fucking decapitate him or burn him to a crisp. Think Daddy loves you enough to do that? And even if he does… how many times do you think I could get off in you before he gets here?"_

"_Sammy, please."_

"_Oh, isn't that sweet? Begging already."_

* * *

I must have lost consciousness again because the next thing I knew, I was sputtering and coughing from a bucket of salt water being thrown on me. And fuck that hurt. Not as much as it would have if I'd been possessed, but open wounds and salt didn't mix.

Shark guy was back, grinning at me with his unbelievably white, dangerous looking teeth. "Time to wake up, freak. Walker wants me to give you another chance to talk before we get started again. I'm really hopin' you'll be tougher to crack then that, though."

Great. Walker was crazy and this jerk was a sadist. I have all the luck. "I don't know if you're up for this, man. I think your technique could use a little work. I've been hit harder by girls in elementary school."

Maybe not the smartest thing in the world to say, but I couldn't help it. Maybe if I could make him mad enough this would be over faster. I hurt everywhere and there was this annoying ringing in my ears that was refusing to go away. Shark guy pulled back a meaty fist and I closed my eyes waiting for the impact. Instead there was the sound of glass shattering and a warm splash across my face, followed by a heavy thud that sounded suspiciously like a body falling. I cracked an eye open and saw Shark guy laying on the floor. I tried to get my brain working, tried to figure out why half his head was missing, when I heard a loud crash somewhere close by.

* * *

_A/N:_

_Thanks **Becca**! Poor John's gotta feel like everything's coming at him at once, and he can't ignore any of it. Walker, Azazel, his son's trauma, his own pain… and he doesn't even know about Hendrickson. LOL._

_For my money **rog457**? Much as I love John to pieces, I think Dean's the strongest of them all._

_Yeah, **redgriffen**… John's just not the type to wait around for the other shoe to drop. I love writing Bobby and John so much, I'm considering writing a fic with just them after I'm done with this. They really play well off each other._

_Thanks **Yammy**! John's so much fun to write. Far more fun than I anticipated._

_Ouch, **greendaypumpkin**! Sorry this took so long. Went on vacation for my birthday. Hope this helps with the boredom._

_Thanks **babyreaper**! Be careful what you wish for…_

_Dial up is evil, **deangirl**. I think Dean and Sam should kill it._

_Dean is always awesome, **talon81**, even when he's broken._

_**Moira4eku**, I think John's problem is that he knows he's not god and that causes him untold guilt. He fears that his boys will pay the price for his imperfections and weaknesses._

_Dean's never shied away from pain, **NongPradu**, if it was for the benefit of his family or even a stranger in need. It's one of the things that I've always loved about him._

_Thanks **Shinigami**! Sammy's coming to the same realization on the show. I just thought it was unfortunate that it also coincides with him becoming such a massive asswipe and treating his brother like crap. Maybe he'll be better next season._

_Welcome, **pariah wilson**! I've put a lot of work into trying to keep this story true to character and trying to make sure they all act like real people in these situations, flaws and all. I'm glad you think I'm succeeding. Jo will be back, and her return will be a surprising twist and that's all I'm giving away. As for the goat? Azazel always rips them apart in a fit of rage, or so the stories go. So, I'm afraid things didn't end well for the poor thing._

_-Angie_


	21. Retrieval

**Retrieval**

"_Sammy, please."_

"_Oh, isn't that sweet? Begging already. Little brother's gonna rip you up inside. How long did it take you to be able to sit right last time?"_

"_No…" It came out sounding suspiciously like a sob and I flinched as much from the sound of it as at the threat. Sam's size had always annoyed me… but it had never actually _scared_ me before. He'd always been that pudgy little toddler in my head no matter how big he got. Right now, though, I couldn't ignore the sheer terror that froze my blood and tied my stomach into knots._

"_Shhh… It's okay," Sammy soothed, rubbing the skin behind my ear with the thumb of the hand holding my head flat against the bar. It was too familiar, being bent over and held down like this. My body kept remembering things that I'd spent a year trying to make it forget. "You're my little bitch anyway. Just making it official, bro. You do everything else you can to make me happy. Why not spread those legs for me too? Give me what everybody else seems to want so bad."_

"_You gotta fight it Sammy… please don't… don't let it do this… please."_

"_Oh, come on Dean. Show me what the fuss is all about. We both know what a whore you are."_

_I tried to push Sam's weight off me, trying to remind myself that it was the demon, not Sam… Sam would never say these things to me. _At least not most of them_. I ignored the traitorous voice in my head as I tried to find some sort of advantage, some way to fight back. I felt my head lifted up only to be slammed down hard against the bar. And damn, that fucking hurt! My vision grayed out and I couldn't move for a few moments as Sammy pressed against my back and the son of a bitch really _was_ proportional. I shuddered at the thought of him actually inside me, the sense memory of what it felt like to have someone force himself in me making me gag and the muscles in my body tense. I closed my eyes and chanted Not Sammy, Not Sammy over and over again in my head._

"_You're gonna feel so good, baby," Sammy – Not Sammy – was whispering in my ear. "I'm gonna fuck you open. But don't worry, I'm sure you'll bleed enough to make things nice and slick eventually. If you beg, though," he said, his voice almost gentle as his huge hand slid from the back of my head to wrapped around my throat, pulling me tight against his chest, restricting my breathing, "I might use a little spit to ease the way. Would you like that bitch? It'll still hurt, but then I always did like to hurt you, didn't I? And you always let me."_

_I felt my belt and my jeans being undone and pulled own. It was a struggle to pull in breath with the hand around my throat and my eyes were tearing up. The rough fabric of Sam's jeans rubbed against my naked ass and I shivered again. God, this was _real_. This was actually going to happen… I retreated into my head as much as I could, trying to hide from what my own brother was going to do to me. _**Not Sammy**_, I screamed in my head._

"_Oh, come on, you worthless whore. The begging can't be over so soon. You're so _pretty_ when you beg. Not as pretty as you'll be on your knees after I fuck you. Know what you'll be doing on your knees, bitch? I'm gonna put that pretty mouth of yours to good use. With lips like those, I can't believe nobody's ever done that before. Come on. You can tell me, Dean. How many men have you been on your knees for?"_

"_Sam…"_

_I heard boots on the floor, felt Sam's weight – _Not Sam_ – shift. "Hey, look Dean. Daddy's here. Think he wants to watch?"_

* * *

I sat up with a start. It took me a minute to realize what I had to thank for waking me out of that nightmare. There was no telling how it would have ended this time around – the way it really happened, or some other variation like the demon killing Dad then raping me, or Dad joining in, or Dad killing Sammy. Yeah, good times. Then I realized that the beads were vibrating. I wasted a precious second staring at the stupid girly bracelet on my wrist – 'cause, seriously, _beads_? – before I comprehended that the fucking_ beads _were_ vibrating_. I heard Dad and Bobby shouting Sam's name out in the yard. I was out of bed and down the stairs so fast that I had no conscious memory of moving. I blinked and found myself downstairs grabbing a shotgun on my way out the front door.

My heart was pounding painfully in my chest and my palms were sweaty. Maybe this wasn't really happening, maybe I was still asleep. But I knew that wasn't true. I never had anxiety dreams. That was all Sammy's territory. I only dreamed about the shit that actually happened. I heard my father cursing a blue streak and that just can't be good. I followed the sound of his voice through the maze of dead cars in Bobby's yard until I could see his broad back. He was scanning the yard, his own shotgun in hand. Bobby's voice had gotten further away and that made sense. They'd split up looking for Sam.

"Dad!" He whirled around to face me.

"Sammy went for a-" Dad stopped and looked down at his wrist. The beads had stopped vibrating. And that… can't be good. "Shit."

I stared at him for half a second. "Shit." I echoed. And really, that pretty much said it all. Because who ever had been here wouldn't just leave without whatever they came here for. Sam.

Dad, Bobby and I spent twenty of the worst minutes of my life combing the yard before Dad found any trace of what happened to Sam.

Dad stood over the scuff marks, his jaw working. "They took him." That much was obvious. Dad had taught me how to track and I was good enough to see what had happened myself even though he was better. I could feel anger coming off him in waves. We followed him as he followed the tracks to the fence, where it was cut. They continued to the tire tracks. It was a van. Duel suspension, all terrain tires – the expensive kind. "They fucking took my kid."

While finding Sam gone was better than finding Sam dead by a margin that wasn't even fucking imaginable, the fact that someone had just come here and taken him? Right under our noses? And not something supernatural, but humans… _hunters_… That just pissed me right the hell off and I could tell it was doing the same thing for my father. We were the fucking good guys. Since when did hunters start hunting each other? When did it become okay to fuck with Dad, or Bobby? They both had reputations in the hunting community and they were given a wide berth. I wasn't on their level, but I knew I had a rep too. If people in the community knew one thing about me, it was that you don't mess with my baby brother. 'Cause that shit can seriously get you killed. Crossing all three of us? This Walker motherfucker was definitely suicidal and I don't think I'll mind helping him out with that particular problem. We followed the tire tracks to the closest paved road. They went south and that was all we could tell.

* * *

It occurred to me as I listened to Dad talk to some guy named Ash just how right Sam was when he called us a family of freaks. Any normal family would have tried something like this first if the police were somehow out of the question, at the very least would have expected the police to try it first. For us, tracking the GPS in Walker's phone was a last resort. Something we were reduced to when there were no portents to track, when another psychic was blocking Missouri's ability to pick up anything about Sammy's current location and when scrying came up a big fat goose egg. Once we find that kid, I swear I'm going to have him lo-jacked. I wonder if we can find a doctor to put one of those chips some parents put in their kids without him knowing. After everything that's happened, I'm sure Dad wouldn't mind helping me.

Bobby was in his office trying to figure out if there was some other method we could use to track Sam just in case we came up empty on this too. Dad was wearing a trench in the living room floor and I was watching him. I figured one pacer was enough. Although I wanted to punch something far more than I wanted to pace. Someone had kidnapped Sammy right under my nose. If I'd been where I should have been, doing what I was supposed to be doing, this never would have happened. Instead I was upstairs hiding like a fucking pussy and my brother was god knows where with that psycho. I was going to beat the hell out of that motherfucker when we caught up to him. And that's if Sammy's alive. I don't even want to think about what I'll do if he's not 'cause that's just… fuck, that's not even a possibility.

"Hold on," Dad was saying, "I'm puttin' you on speaker." He took the cell phone from his ear and pushed a button before holding the phone out between us. "Okay, go."

"Well, unfortunately the cell phone number you gave me isn't giving off a GPS signal right now. So either it's been turned off or disabled somehow."

"So you tellin' me you got _nothin'_?" Dad sounded like he wanted to pull the guy through the phone and beat him to death for his failure.

"W-well I wouldn't exactly say I have nothin'." Ash sounded scared as hell, and I can't say I blame him. Even Bobby handled Dad cautiously when he got like this. I would have felt sorry for the poor guy but this was my baby brother we were talking about. I'd help Dad beat him myself if it would get us Sammy back in one piece. "I have the last location he made a call from. It's about forty miles north of Bobby's place and it's kind of in the middle of nowhere, only public road within miles of it is a highway about a mile and a half away. Google maps shows a cabin there and it looks occupied."

"You can see it?" Dad sounded like he was caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. Dad and Sammy were alike that way – huge geeks who loved learning something new, even in the middle of a crisis. I rolled my eyes.

"Sure. Google shows satellite images. Pretty cool, actually."

Dad rolled his eyes the way he did when Sam went off on one of his tangents. Like the kid didn't come by that trait honestly. "How many cars?"

Looks like two pick ups and a van."

"You said it was cabin. Is it isolated?"

"Other then the highway, there's nothin' around for at least twelve miles unless you count the wildlife. Separated from the highway by dense woods, with no nearby exits of the road. According to the city records there's a service road, but I can't see it. I think you have to know exactly where it is."

"We'll find it. Can you send a picture of the map to Dean's phone?"

"Sure thing."

"Good. Call me if you find anything else." Dad hung up the phone and turned to me. "Let's roll."

Not like he had to tell me that twice. I was already bouncing on the balls of my feet, the fact that it was only good sense to wait the only thing keeping me from insisting on going ahead. "Yessir."

Dad hefted his sawed off shotgun in one hand and his weapons duffle in the other as he followed me to the door. All my gear was already in the Impala. "You comin', Bobby?" He called out.

The other man came out of his study carrying his own weapons. "Like I'd just letcha leave me here."

"Good. I got a plan."

I'm glad someone did. Because the only thing I wanted to do was bust in and shot my way to my little brother. If the idiots who took him bought the big one in the process I wouldn't shed any tears.

* * *

The only problem with Dad's plan? I had to wait for him to get in position and give me the green light. I was in the driver's seat of his truck with the headlights off. It was just before dawn and Dad was off somewhere in the woods with his sniper rifle. Bobby was beside me, gun at the ready muttering something about damn fool reckless Winchesters. I wanted to say hell yeah, but settled for giving him a half-hearted smirk. The palms of my hands itched as I gripped the steering wheel. Sammy was in there. Okay, Sammy was _probably_ in there, but that was close enough for me right now. It was at least something to go on. My phone was sitting on the bench seat between us, the sound of Dad's muffled rifle going off periodically could be heard through the speaker.

"I got the guards on the perimeter, Dean," Dad hissed into his phone. "You're brother's in a room to the back and the far left. I'll watch your back from here."

"Yessir," I said as I put the truck in drive. Just before I slammed on the gas, I heard Dad curse and another shot over my phone. "Dad?"

"I'm fine. Just get your brother."

Bobby cursed as the truck accelerated and tried to brace himself against the dash. "This might hurt."

Time did that funny thing it always did when I was hunting. It slowed down and speed up at the same time. Things were happening faster than I could process, but I had more than enough time to react. Bobby and I found ourselves in the living room of the cabin with three startled hunters and a psychic. I was out of the truck before they could react, Bobby at my back, and heading for Sam with my guns drawn. Only one of the men in the room tried to stop me. The rest were heading out the front door. He lunged for me, I side stepped, grabbed his arm with my free hand and twisted it behind his back. I swept his legs and pushed forward at the same time. His head it the wall with a satisfying crunch and he fell like a sack of potatoes. I let him go and kept moving.

I heard a gunshot behind me and quickly glanced to see another hunter landing hard on the far side of the room after taking a chest full of buckshot from Bobby's shotgun.

I found Sam exactly where Dad said he was, staring down at a body with half its head missing. Time stopped as I took my brother in and I suddenly wanted to kill every last one of these bastards – slowly. His shirt had been ripped open. His eyes looked like they were swelling shut, and he was a mass of bruises and cuts. "Sammy."

He looked up, his eyes glassy, unfocused and dazed. Concussion. Hell, that might be the least of our worries. That bruising on his abdomen didn't look good and probably meant that he had some internal injuries. I stepped over the body separating us, glad the sonovabitch was dead and sorry that it hadn't been me to do it. Who the hell did this kind of thing to other people? Sometimes I didn't think that humanity needed to be protected from the monsters. Sometimes we were the monsters.

"D'n?"

"Yeah, it's me little brother. Gonna get you outta here."

He dropped his head again like it was too heavy to hold up. "Shouldn't a come… deserve this."

"For god's sake, shut the fuck up Sammy," I said, my throat suddenly tight and my voice hoarse. I ignored the creepy crawly thing my skin was doing as I untied him with one hand, my gun still in the other. "It wasn't you," I said, almost as much to reassure myself as him. "You don't deserve this."

"Hello Dean. Nice to see you again." I looked up to see Walker standing in the doorway, his gun to Bobby's head. Well, that was impressive. I'd never seen anyone sneak up on Bobby before and if I'd been told five minutes ago that someone could, I'd have laughed. Apparently I was wrong. I raised an eyebrow at Bobby and he gave me a little shrug but refused to meet my eye.

"Walker." I froze, Sam's hands were free, but I squeezed his wrists to let him know to keep them where they were as I pressed my gun into his right hand. From Walker's location, I knew that Dad couldn't get a good shot at Walker without hitting Bobby. And even if he did that? Bobby's body would change the trajectory and speed of the bullet and that could be enough of an edge for Walker to shot one or both of us. Walker was fighting his own personal crusade and I don't think he'd mind going out if he got to take someone out with him. Sam might be the only chance we have of all of us getting out of here alive. Once I was sure that Sam had a good hold of the gun and that Walker didn't suspect what I'd done, I stood up slowly, raising my hands. "You can still get out of this alive. Just put the gun down and we'll let you walk away."

"How do I know that for sure?"

"We're not murderers." Well, at least not usually.

"Well, that's not true, is it?" I almost winced at that, almost gave myself away. How did he know what I'd done? He smiled slowly, knowingly. "Sammy racked up quite a body count when he went missing, didn't he? And I'm sure Willis there didn't shoot himself in the head."

"He was beating the shit outta my brother. You wanted us to send him on a trip to Disney Land?" I was moving away from Sam to stand on the far side of the room from him, make Walker split his focus. Hopefully Sammy was clear headed enough to realize that he had to raise the gun while Walker was focused on me.

"You're brother's evil. You know it, Dean."

I almost laughed at that. Sammy being evil was still the best joke I'd heard all year. My skin might crawl when I'm around him lately, and I might have nightmares about Not Sam, but I know my kid brother. I was the one who taught him to tie his shoes and made sure he got Lucky Charms when Dad got cheep and wanted to get the store brand crap. He didn't have an evil bone in his body. "What I know is, that you kidnapped and tortured him. He didn't do anything. And he's the last person in the world who would ever hurt anybody."

"Oh, that's right. He was possessed." Walker made a dismissive gesture with his gun hand, temporarily removing Bobby from the line of fire and a gunshot echoed loudly in the room. Walker turned to look at Sam, shocked and dazed as his right arm fell to his side, useless. There was a hole in Walker's shoulder, right at the joint, and Sammy had my gun at hip level. God bless Dad for teaching us to shot from the hip. The gun fell from Walker's spasming grasp and he staggered backwards. Bobby wheeled around and punched him dead in the face.

I finished untying Sam as fast as I could and he slid out of the chair bonelessly. I caught him, trying to be as gentle as I could. "You did good kid," I murmured. "But you gotta stay with me a few more minutes, okay? We gotta get outta here. No tellin' who else is here."

Sam nodded weakly and tried to keep some of his weight off me. I really hoped he wasn't succeeding because if he was he was a hell of a lot heavier then he looked. Fucking giant. Bobby had retrieved his shotgun from just outside the door and was following us.

"Think you can avoid being snuck up on again, Bobby?"

"You're not half as cute as you think you are, kid."

I chuckled as I pushed Sammy's limp body into the truck. "That's still pretty damn cute."

He let out a soft huff of air that I assumed was a laugh as he got into the passenger's side. "You Winchesters are gonna be the death of me."

Whatever was left of Walker's crew seemed to have scattered and we got the truck backed out of the house without anyone else popping out of the woodwork. Dad was waiting for us on the outskirt of the property with the Impala. He opened my door almost before the truck came to a stop and I got out as soon as I had her in park, knowing that he wanted to see Sammy for himself. He checked him over, quickly and efficiently, cursing softly under his breath periodically and apologizing every time Sam groaned and sucked in a breath. When he was finished he gave Sam a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Sorry kid. You're gonna have to go to the hospital."

"Dad," he began, a whine clear in his voice.

"It's not a suggestion, Sammy."

Sam huffed out a breath. "Yessir." He still sounded a little petulant but at least he wasn't arguing.

Dad got out of the truck and headed for the Impala. "Internal bleeding," I asked quietly enough for Sam not to hear.

"I believe so," he said, not breaking stride, his voice sounding cold as my blood suddenly felt. "Nearest hospital son, quick as fucking possible."

Fucking son of a bitch. If I could have, I'd go back and make sure Walker was dead. Dad went ahead of me in the Impala, drawing off any cops that might be on traffic duty, so I could ignore the traffic rules and get Sam to the nearest ER. By the time we arrived, Dad was already there, waiting anxiously with a wheelchair he'd commandeered from somewhere, and Sam was unconscious. We loaded him in the chair as gently as possible and wheeled him inside, yelling for help. Someone finally came and took him away while we began the one thing I hated more than anything else about hospitals. The waiting.

* * *

_Thanks __**smartassmusicjunkie94**__! Dean being pissed is pretty much an understatement._

_Thanks __**Yammy1983**__! None of the Winchesters can catch a break. Poor guys._

_I don't think John would have blown Shark Guy's head off either if he'd felt he had a choice __**talon81**__. But the guy was about to start whaling on his already battered youngest son and he was too far away to do much else to stop him._

_Yeah, __**NongPradu**__, the whole thing with Meg was pretty traumatizing for both of them. Every time Dean remembers it, it's with Sam's voice and body. _

_Thanks __**monkeymuse**__! I honestly don't know if Meg will resurface yet. We'll see where it goes._

_Yeah, __**rog457**__. Dean and Sam have both been through the ringer._

_Here you go, __**redgriffin7**__. Hope this lives up to your expectations._

_Gorden's pretty much certifiable __**moira4eku**__. Will Gordon come back? Well… he wasn't dead yet when we last saw him. Will he bleed to death and make Sam feel guilty for killing a person while not possessed? Or will he come after the Winchesters again? You'll just have to wait and see…_

_That's not even everything that happened, __**greendaypumpkin**__. I don't think I can write much more, or if I do it'll be very piecemeal. It's intense for me too._

_-Angie_


	22. Chances

**Chances**

I concentrated on what the doctor was saying as if understanding it could somehow save Sammy's life. Whatever was bleeding wasn't shitting around. They were dumping blood into Sam's systems as fast as they could, and still his pressure was dropping. They suspected a ruptured spleen but didn't have time to run any tests to determine the exact cause. They wanted to open him up and take a look, fix the problem while they were in. He was already being prepped for surgery and I signed the papers, barely remember the stupid name on the insurance card that Dean produced, feeling numb and cold, like I was a disembodied spirit.

"Dad?" Dean was standing next to me, looking bewildered. I didn't know if he could take another hit. Not this, not losing Sammy. And I didn't know if I could be strong enough to get him through it. I knew I sure as hell couldn't be enough to hold him together if Sammy didn't make it.

"I know, son." I put an arm around him and pulled him close in a half hug. He didn't pull away at first, leaned into me for a second. "You did good getting your brother outta there. You both did good."

I alternated pacing and sitting, feeling like my skin was too tight and would burst open at any moment and I would spill right out into a puddle on the floor. I wanted to hit something. I wondered if Walker was still alive and how long it would take me to check and find him if he was. That would give me something to focus on, something to keep me from losing my damn mind. But I couldn't leave. Dean looked like he was barely holding it together and Bobby was nowhere to be found. Besides, what if something happened and they needed me, what if _Sammy_ needed me. I had spent years trying to make sure I would be an unnecessary element of their lives, a spare part they could easily live without because that made the idea of sacrificing myself for them easier. Now I realized that it hadn't worked. Yes, they could survive on their own. They could run scams, steal cars, hustle pool and poker. They knew how to survive on little sleep and less food. They could pick locks and cuffs and escape jails. They had deadly accuracy with knives and guns. They knew how to put down werewolves, ghouls and dozens of supernatural creatures and even people if necessary. They weren't defenseless. But they still needed me in ways that I had never realized and I wondered just how much damage my unnecessary absences had done to them.

But I couldn't stay either. I couldn't face Dean right now, not when all this was my fault. All I had to do was watch my own goddamn son for once, keep him safe, and look what happened. Dean was much better at it then I could ever be. But instead of blaming me, he was blaming himself and I didn't know how to stop him. How to make him see that I was the bad guy here, because Dean would never believe it.

"I'm gonna get some caffeine. Want some?"

He blinked at me like it was taking him some time to decipher what I'd said. Like I'd spoken in Phoenician or some shit. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

I nodded and escaped as quickly as possible without making it obvious that I was running away.

* * *

"Hey, hey! What the hell'd that machine ever do to you?"

I glared up at Bobby, pausing in the middle of my abuse of the coffee machine. You'd think they'd make improvements on these things after two decades other then raising the prices. "Damn thing stole my money."

"Just as well. Stuff always tastes like warmed over shit. I got us some coffee from the little shop down the street. Left it with Dean."

"What if he dies, Bobby?" Bobby's face softened and I turned away, unwilling to see pity in my friend's eyes. But I couldn't stop talking now that I'd started, now that I'd let out my fear. "It'll fucking kill Dean. It'll fucking kill me. I survived Mary's death somehow but when you really think about it people live through the death of a husband or a wife every day but god, Bobby, a man was never meant to bury his own children."

Bobby squeezed my shoulder. "You and Dean'll get through this no matter what happens. You'll get through it for each other."

I tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sigh. "What, no platitudes? No promises that everything'll work out fine?"

"Hell John, I ain't ever bullshit you since the day we met and I don't plan on startin' now. We both know the worlds fucked up six ways to Sunday and shit happens everyday that never had any right to. But if anybody can come back from this, it's Sam. That boy's every bit as stubborn as you are. "

I nodded my head, suddenly feeling every second of my age. "Old an' tired, that's what I am Bobby. I've been tryin' everything I can think of to make my boys safe for damn near twenty five years and what the hell good has any of it done."

* * *

I sat down next to Dean, our knees pressed against each other as if we were trying to get whatever comfort we could from physical proximity alone without deteriorating into clinging, crying sad sacks.

"I shoulda… I shouldakilled Walker. Just put one in his fucking brain. Sammy, he just shot the sonovabitch in the shoulder. Might bleed out, might not. Shoulda made sure."

"You're not a murderer, son."

"Yes I am." I looked over at my oldest, my heart squeezed so tight in my chest I felt like it would burst. I'd almost forgotten what he'd done to his rapists. He was staring down at the floor, twisting his thumb ring idly. Before I could think of what to say, he kept going. "He deserved it more than they did. What if Sammy doesn't make it? They beat the hell out of the kid, Dad. How do you just tie someone up in a fucking chair and beat them till they die? What kind of person does that?"

This time we were interrupted by the doctor. "Mr. Michael?" I barely managed not to roll my eyes as I stood up. I made a mental note to talk to Dean about the names he came up with once all this was behind us. George Michael wasn't exactly a name I would have chosen for myself.

* * *

"Sammy's out of surgery. They say that he'll be fine if he makes it through the night."

Missouri was silent on the other end of the line. "How are you, John," she finally asked softly.

"I'm fine." The answer was automatic and I closed my eyes as if trying to hide from the reality. The worst part about all this was that I didn't know what was bringing this on, why I was suddenly having all these _regrets _when I needed to be strong the most.

"Bull."

I laughed. "I fucked up Missouri."

"I know John. Everybody does."

"But my boys needed…" I paused, trying to find words for what I was thinking.

"They needed to know they could depend on you and you decided to teach them to depend on themselves and each other instead."

"Yeah. And you tried to warn me. Every fucking body tried to warn me. I was just too stubborn to listen."

"You did a lot of good too, John. Don't lose sight o' that. I hate to say it but if you'd listened to all of us about everything, those boys wouldn't be the men they are now. They wouldn't be able to pull themselves back together the way they can. You had a choice most parents don't have. Their happiness or their lives."

"It shouldn't have been like that."

"No it shouldn't have. But it was. So what are you going to do, John? Get lost in self-pity, or be the pain in the butt I've grown to love?"

I chuckled. "Oh, come on Missouri. You know it was love at first sight."

"That's more like it. Now go look out for your boys."

* * *

It was my turn to sit with Sammy. While they would let us stay in the post op ICU through the night, they only let one of us stay at a time. He looked so unbelievably young. I sat down next to his bed.

"Dude, first thing I'm gonna do when I get you back home is sit you out on Bobby's porch. You're kind of pasty around all the black and blue." I reached out and combed his hair back. "If you don't wake up by morning, I swear I'll cut off all your hair. You'll have a buzz cut. Maybe I'll let Dean shave your head. I still have the pictures of you from the Nair incident on my phone."

I laughed to myself. Poor Sammy looked like he had the mange, with his head bald in spots and the rest of his hair looking like some sort of plastic. Dean had caught him storming out of the bathroom, eyes wide and teeth bared. He looked psychotic. "Served you right. Conditioner, Sammy? Seriously?"

"You got him back by gluing his hand to a beer bottle. You and your brother and your prank wars." I snorted softly.

"I know I haven't always been there when you needed me. I'm trying to change that now, so you can't check out on me like this kiddo. I might not deserve it, but I want this second chance. Just… please doesn't die, son."

I lapsed into silence, listening to the heart monitor beep. I was started awake by a dry rustling. I wondered when I'd fallen asleep as I looked around to find the source of the noise, already in full alert looking for a threat. Sammy was looking right at me. "Sammy?"

"Hey Dad." His voice sounded like dry leaves. That must have been what woke me up. "Dean?"

I felt a little disappointed. But of course he wanted his brother. It was my doing so it really shouldn't sting so much. I reached over and pushed the call button. "He's right outside. Just let me get the doctor in here and I'll go get your brother."

"You'll-" His didn't come out at all that time and he stopped to clear his throat. "You'll come back, right?"

I paused for a moment, surprised that he wanted me around. "Yeah. Nowhere else I'd rather be."

* * *

I came up from the cafeteria to find my oldest son talking to the cops. Great. Just what we needed. But Sammy had been beaten to a pulp, so it didn't surprise me that someone had called them. I could only hope that they wouldn't recognize Dean from his wanted posters. It wasn't like the boy had 'one of those faces.'

"Is there a problem?"

"I was just tellin'the cops about what happened to Sammy." There was something about the way that he said it, the mischievous glint in his eye. He was up to something. I suppressed a groan. We'd agreed to say that we found Sammy like that, missing his wallet. A garden verity mugging. Sam's story was that he couldn't remember what happened at all. Traumatic amnesia. It was the easiest way not to screw any details up. But it was clear that Dean had put some spin on the story. "I know you don't like to talk about it, but it might be an important detail."

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't like to talk about what?"

He turned to the cops. "Dad's still in a little denial. Sammy only came out a couple months ago. But I think that might have somethin' to do with this. You know how some of these small towns can be."

I didn't know whether to laugh or smack Dean on the back of the head. He'd told the cops that his brother was _gay_? Sammy was going to flip. I almost did laugh at the thought of the look on Sam's face when he found out. "Oh, god."

"Well,' one of the cops said, trying to look sympathetic, "we don't normally have hate crimes around here, but we'll make a note of it and we'll be sure to get in touch with you if learn anything."

Once the cops where gone, apparently without recognizing my wanted for serial murder and supposedly dead son, I whispered. "Sammy's gonna have a fit!"

Dean shrugged and smirked. It was the closest to normal I'd seen him in a long time and it made me want to hug him. This was something Dean would do before all the shit from a few months ago and last year happened. Just to annoy his brother. I could almost pretend the he was all better, if it weren't for the ghosts I could still see in his eyes. "I can only hope," he said, obviously pleased with himself. "Sammy fits are the best."

* * *

Bobby had found no trace of Walker when he went back to the cabin to clean up. There was no sign of anyone other than blood stains, bullet holes and the hole left by my truck. Which now needed a whole hell of a lot of work. I couldn't figure out how Dean had gotten it to the hospital so fast. So Bobby just salted and burned the cabin and drove my truck back to his salvage yard to start the repairs. I took the Impala to make a quick trip to the roadhouse to check in on Ellen and Jo and to see if she'd heard anything about where Walker might be. She hadn't heard anything about him either. Jo was better. She was spending less time in bed and eating more. I returned to the hospital to find Sammy's room in the critical care unit empty. I spent a few panicked moments demanding to know what they'd done with my boy before being told that he was much better and had been moved to a normal room. The boys were playing poker when I finally found them, Sam holding his cards awkwardly with the oxygen monitor clipped on his index finger. The food tray was between them and Sammy's plate was on the bedside table. I noticed for a couple of days now that even though Dean was in the same room with his brother all the time now, he still avoided touching him and Sam looked like he was telegraphing every move he made as if he was trying not to startling his brother.

"Hey Dad. Want me to deal you in? We're playin' for Sammy's hospital grub." Dean was leaning back in his chair and chewing on a piece of celery that was hanging out of his mouth, like it was a cigar.

"Yeah," Sam said dryly. "I'm losin' on purpose."

Dean snorted incredulously, "whatever helps you sleep at night princess."

Sammy pointedly ignored him. "I swear they make this stuff crappy on purpose just to motivate people to leave as quickly as possible."

"Well this is your lucky day," I said holding up the bag I was carrying. "Beef stew. It's damn good."

Sammy's eyes lit up for a second then he looked at me suspiciously. "Who made it?"

I laughed at that. Neither one of the boys trusted my cooking much. Although Dean was quicker to give it a chance than Sam was. Sam tended to let Dean eat it first and then watch him for a few minutes before eating anything I cooked. "Ellen."

"Isn't that…" Sam's face went white and his voice trailed off as if he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"Jo's mother. Yeah. She knows you weren't responsible for what happened to her girl, otherwise she woulda shot you already. Ellen's got a temper on her. She heard about what Gordon did and she insisted on sendin' this. Wanted me to make sure you knew she doesn't hold anything against you."

"That's… wow…" I smirked. Sammy always got tongue tied when he was thrown off center by something.

"You sure it's not poisoned?" I looked at Dean, who was looking at the bag in my hand suspiciously.

"Dean!" Sammy was glaring at Dean like poison was completely out of the realm of possibility. I was sure that it was. Well, about 99% sure. Shooting was much more Ellen's style. Poison was far too… passive. Besides, pretense was never Ellen's thing. She'd always been pretty upfront about it whenever she wanted me dead in the past.

"_What_? It's a valid question."

"Well, I'm eating it. You can have the celery and whatever the hell that other mushy stuff is."

Dean grimaced as he looked down at Sammy's tray. "That's okay. I'm sure this stuff'll kill us before any poison could."

I passed two of the three plastic bowls of stew to the boys along with the plastic soup spoons. I mostly watched them enjoy their food, grateful that they were both still alive. I couldn't help smiling at how much they enjoyed the simple kindness of a woman who had every right to hate us. Dean's eyes rolled up in his head and he moaned with the first bit before he started inhaling it. Sammy was slower, savoring each bite, favoring the right side of his mouth. My boys were so different, but so alike. I could see different parts of Mary in them, different parts of myself. God I had to protect them. They were grown men, I knew that. But they were also still boys. _My_ boys. No matter how old they got, they always would be.

"Hey Dad," Sam finally said when he was half way through the stew, "can you see how soon you can get me out of here? The food is horrible. I'd like a real shower. And those cops? They came back today to see if I remembered anything. I think… I think that… I think one of them actually… _hit_ on me."

Dean and I looked at each other before starting to laugh.

* * *

_A/N:_

_Hey __**BeccaWestlifeAddict**__! Glad you're enjoying this story! I work really, really hard at making it real, at trying to get the voices right, etc. I'm really pleased that you think it's paying off._

_LOL, __**rog457**__! No one does guilt like a Winchester. The thing I love most about them is that even in the middle of a pity party, no one can man up like one either._

_Thanks __**deangirl1**__! That flashback was difficult to write. Glad it worked out so well. Dean's not over his issues with Sam so much as he's submerged them under his perceived duty as Sam's big brother._

_I always wanted to use that part of John's history, __**redgriffin7**__. You have to be really, really good to be a sniper in the Marines. I kind of struggled with whether to finish the flashbacks from the previous chapter but ultimately decided to because it really does explain some of Dean and Sam's behavior. It's harder for them both to dismiss the things Not Sammy did as just the demon because some of the things were things Sammy's actually said in the past (Dean's a slut) or done (hurt Dean, often on purpose)._

_Thanks __**babyreaper**__! Walker's just one of the best kinds of villains… the kind that thinks he's the hero._

_Yeah, __**talon81**__. I'm thinking not to many people will want to tangle with those three again. If Walker survives, he's psycho enough. But the other hunters? Not sure he'll be able to get too many to help him. All of Sam's idealism hasn't been beaten out of him yet, God bless him._

_Thanks __**Yammy**__!_

_Welcome, __**kelmar2004**__! I love John! I don't understand all the John-hatred out there. He's not perfect but if the John haters were looking for perfect, they would hate Sam too. Dude! They're all going through bad shit. I take criticism well. I have to confess that I do that on purpose because I'm simi-evil. LOL. If it really bothers you, though, I can change it. If it bothers anyone else please speak up. And no, you're not the only one that envisions the characters. That's how I read stories (why I hate going to see movies after I read the books – characters never look like they do in my head and it annoys me) and how I write them too._

_-Angie_


	23. Puzzle

**Puzzle**

I was obsessed with Dean Winchester. I knew it, my boss knew it. My damn _cleaning lady_ knew it. There was a time before one of his would be victims put a bullet in him in St. Louise that I couldn't have a conversation with anyone without launching into a tirade centering around him. I had crime scene photos tacked to my living room wall. I breathed, ate and slept Dean Winchester. I was becoming the Ahab to his Moby Dick.

It wasn't just the clearly psychotic nature of his crimes, or the fact that the motherfucker was brilliant, charming and slippery as a fucking eel. It wasn't even that he had this way of making witnesses loyal to him. It wasn't out of fear either, that much was obvious. As soon as most of the people who'd met him up close and personal and lived to talk about it realized that I was trying to build a case against the bastard, they claimed up so tight I probably would have had to waterboard them to get more information. I might have too, if I thought I could get away with it. But this was real life, not an episode of _24_ and if I did something like that I'd be so far up shit creek, it would take me two and a half lifetimes to paddle my way back out.

No, it wasn't any of that. The thing that bothered me most about Dean Winchester? The thing that stuck in my craw and made me desperate to catch to son of a bitch? More than the fact that he was nuttier then a whole warehouse full of fruitcakes, more than the fact that he seemed to somehow be able to make good law abiding people willing to impede a federal investigation after only knowing him a few days and even more than the fact that every time I went head to head with him he made me look like the village idiot? He didn't really fit the profile. I mean, he did but he _didn't_. Two plus two didn't quite equal four. There was something missing from the equation and I needed to figure it out. The not knowing, the not truly understanding drove me crazy. It was like having a pebble in your shoe that you couldn't find when you looked, but that you felt every damn time you put it on. It was irritating. Infuriating. Distracting.

Then he died on me before I got the chance to solve the puzzle. Or at least I thought he had until I listened to my voicemail. I'd only heard his voice a handful of times, but it had haunted me to the point that I'd know it anywhere. Dean Winchester was alive. Yeah, I'd seen his body, we'd checked the prints and it was him. So how the hell was he leaving messages for me in the middle of the night? A shudder ran up my spine so hard, I thought the bones would come apart. It was a confession for a set of murders that he didn't want innocent people blamed for.

This gave the term 'slippery bastard' a whole new meaning. Finding someone that looked exactly like you, making them you and then killing them? That was just pure evil genius. Either that or the kid was telling the truth and it was something supernatural. I almost laughed at that thought, because even if I were inclined to believe in demons and werewolves, how in the world did that explain Winchester's doppelganger? The problem that I had now was that even with the phone call, how the hell was I ever going to prove he was still alive? I sighed as I cleared my calendar and made flight plans. Looks like I was visiting Bumfuck, USA to chase down this lead and try to prove that my guy was still alive and kicking. And, apparently, killing. Why the hell did this kid always go for backwater towns, anyway? Why couldn't he ever go somewhere like Vegas?

* * *

Burned alive. That was one hell of a way to go, I thought grimly as I looked at the body on the slab. The medical examiner was eating a turkey sandwich as he watching me thoughtfully. I clinched my jaw. I never could understand how these guys could eat right next to a gruesomely mutilated corpse. "I'm kinda surprised the feds give a shit about this case, Agent Henrickson" he grunted between bits. I gave him a look, but nothing else. I wasn't about to discuss this with the locals. Besides, I wasn't completely sure that I'd gotten my gag reflex completely under control yet. "Nobody here's gonna shed too many tears for this lot."

"Is that so?" It was obvious that he wanted to talk about it, so I let him. The more information I had, the closer I would come to figuring out why Winchester had outted himself to me. It was his first honest to god slip up and I needed to understand it so I could take full advantage of it.

"They been terrorizing this town for years. It was only a matter of time before somebody got the stones to do away with them. I'm just shocked that it was so… efficient."

I snorted. I wasn't. Killing efficiently was Winchester's middle name. "Terrorizing how?"

"Extortion. Assault. Destruction of property. Rape. You name it, they did it."

I felt cold creeping up my spine. "Nobody reported them?"

"Nobody had the balls. One of the boy's daddy was the Sherriff." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at one of the drawers, indicating the temporary resting place of the deceased law enforcement officer. He hadn't been burnt to death. He'd been shot in the back of the head and in the heart, execution style. "That son of a bitch deserved it more than his idiot kid. And that's sayin' somethin'."

I rubbed my eyes. The son of a bitch had done it to me again. The people in this one horse town probably wanted to throw him a damn ticker tape parade and name a street after him. Psycho Boulevard. "Shit."

"You should visit the hospital. Look into their victims."

I frowned at him. "Not the police station?"

The man shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich, but never answered.

* * *

The scene of the crime was the next stop. There was nothing there but a burnt out hole in the ground. There'd been enough accelerant inside the basement to blow up city block and it had done an excellent job of destroying all evidence. Winchester knew his shit. The owners of the bar didn't seem at all unhappy with their turn of fortune. They were able to build a brand new place with the insurance money and would have a nice chunk left over if everything stayed within their budget. The thing that caught my attention, though, was that they didn't seem all that happy either.

I probed the wound and found out that victims had raped their youngest daughter the year before. Oh, great. They definitely weren't going to give up Winchester. They had to see him as some sort of avenging angel.

"It was supposed to be me," blurted the older daughter, her eyes looking haunted. "It _should_ have been me."

Her parents looked at her, pained expressions on their faces. It was obviously not the first time this had come up and neither of them seemed to have figured out the right way to deal with it. They probably never would.

"Why do you say that?"

"They… they were after me just before they…" She cleared her throat and started again. "Just before."

"But you got away?"

"Someone… somebody helped me." She laughed a little bitterly. "He paid for it though. No good deed goes unpunished, right?"

My gut told me that was the key, the thing that would lead me to my proof. "Was he tall with dark blond hair and green eyes?"

She started and that gave me all the answer I needed. It didn't matter that she stuttered out a denial, her reaction told me the truth. I felt a cold wave wash over me. Pieces were falling into place. This was _personal_ for Winchester. He was just as likely to save someone as kill them, and usually the ones he saved never forgot it because he went above and beyond the call of duty. A hero complex to balance out his psycho killer shtick. Nice combo.

* * *

I finally made a visit to the hospital. Or what passed for one in this town. It was small and looked understaffed. I had to wait nearly twenty minutes to talk to the chief of staff, a harried looking middle aged man who looked like he was once a jock but had since gone soft in the middle named Dr. Robert Case. I was hoping to get lucky, hoping if I was right, Winchester had ended up here after the victims had punished him for his good deed. I didn't hold out any hope that he'd used his real name. He was supposed to be dead, and even before that he'd seemed to have an endless supply of aliases.

"There was physical evidence. I don't know what happened to them after we turned them over to the sheriff. But since the evidence was against his own son and he was about as corrupt as they come, I imagine they ended up in a dumpster somewhere. We still have copies of the records we turned over, though. Just in case."

"If the local cops weren't doing anything, then why didn't anyone call the FBI?"

Dr. Case gave a disgusted snort. "Honestly? Because we were all too afraid." It was clear that his disgust was aimed at himself. "Family members of people who went outside for help either got hurt or disappeared altogether. None of the missing people have been found yet. Nobody wanted that to be them. That's not… that's not a good enough excuse. But there it is."

"So you have records of the assaults. How many of them were sexual?"

"Most. I think they got off on the humiliation. They were sadists. Caused the maximum amount of damage physically and emotionally. That's why so many ended up in the hospital. Internal bleeding."

"How many women did they assault?"

"I'd say about thirty-five in all. But they weren't all women. There were about eight men."

"That many people tried to come forward?"

"No. A lot of them were just for fun." The man gave a laugh that sounded more like it came from pain than amusement. "You know, what was done to them was bad and I shouldn't condone it. But I'm glad somebody finally did it. Finally got rid of those bastards. Jail was too good for them."

These 'victims' were looking more and more like they really did deserve to be charbroiled.

* * *

Dr. Case left me alone in a small conference room with the files. They all had pictures, except for one because the paper file was gone. The only thing left were the electronic records. Darren Stevens. I snorted. Winchester was clearly a Bewitched fain. The kid was imaginative with the aliases, I'd give him that. I tried not to feel sorry for the bastard as I read the list of injuries and doctor's notes that were transcribed before the original file disappeared, but it was hard. He'd nearly bled to death before he was brought in with torn sutures, multiple contusions and abrasions, broken ribs, a concussion, and evidence of "repeated forced anal penetration."

I pushed the papers away and scrubbed my face with my hands in an attempt to pull myself together. None of the others, even with the pictures, had affected me this much. To be honest, I think I had some sort of connection to Winchester, and I had to work hard to overcome it, to keep it from making me soft. His childhood had to be tragic. A father who has a psychotic break after his wife dies in a tragic fire, becomes convinced that she was pinned to the ceiling. Takes his children and trains them to believe his insane ramblings, killing people he claimed were evil and training them to do the same. No telling what other abuses there were. Even if there was no sexual or physical abuse, by definition what John Winchester had done to his sons was emotional and mental abuse.

Then _this_ happens to him. No wonder he flipped on them. No wonder he wanted me to know he did this. This would destroy someone with an undamaged psyche. What would it do to someone like Winchester?

One thing was clear to me, though. I had to find Winchester as quickly as possible. He'd be even more dangerous and unstable than ever. And a man like him, with the kinds of skills and cunning he had, could do an unbelievable amount of damage. Maybe that was why he contacted me. Maybe he wanted to be stopped. Maybe he thought I could help him. I didn't know if I could do that. But I did know I could stop him. I had to.

_

* * *

_

A/N: I thought I'd give you all a little change of pace with an unexpected POV. I hope you like it.

_Dean's still Dean talon81!_

_Thanks smartassmusicjunkie94! I've actually read that and I loved it! Feel free to make more recs. Glad you like the chapter._

_Hey, babyreaper! I'm happy you liked the last chapter. Sorry if I wasn't clear… the mushy stuff was Sam's hospital food, not the stew._

_Nobody does guilt like a Winchester, moira4eku. And yeah, Gordon's a huge lose canon._

_Nothing like nearly losing someone to fix your prospective, rog457._

_Thanks BeccaWestlifeAddict! Much as I love torturing them, there's only so much crying in their Wheaties I can take from my characters._

_Yes he did kelmar2004. Dean just can't help himself…_

_It's gonna take them a while yet redgriffin7, but they're still brothers._

_Yes, NongPradu. This is torture for John. Nothing really has to happen to him to break him, because it's worse for him to watch it happen to his boys. For years he was out front on purpose, taking all the hits. Now he can't do that and it's killing him. There are a lot of variables, a lot of things to worry about and they just seem to keep multiplying._

_That's alright, greendaypumpkin. Glad to see you back. Everyone needed a little breather from all the angst. The poor boys have a long way to go. Poor Dean was traumatized. Still is._

_-Angie_


	24. Fugitive

**Fugitive**

"Dean!" Sam was frowning at his brother, his voice a mixture of annoyance and affection. "What'd you do?"

Dean had stopped laughing enough to look completely bewildered. It was the face he put own when he knew perfectly well what was going on and was playing dumb. "Why does it always have to be me? Why can't it ever be something _Dad_ did?"

Sam looked at me for a second, frowning as if he was trying to read my face, before turning back to Dean. "Because it never is! He teases the hell out of us sometimes, but he never _pranks_ us. It was _you_!"

Dean put on his most aggrieved expression, which just sent me into another fit of laughter and earned another glare from Sammy. "Oh, come on! What do you think I did, Sam?"

Sammy's eyes narrowed as he put things together in his head. "You told them… you told them I was _gay_, didn't you?"

"Dude, your imagination is seriously workin' overtime. Maybe the guy just thought you were a girl. What, with all that hair and emo shit you like to rock."

"You're playing with people's _emotions_, Dean."

"Wow. That's incredibly vain of you, little bro."

Sammy opened his mouth only to snap it shut twice. Then he folded his arms before turning to me. "I can't believe you let him do that!"

I held up my hands in self-defense. "What?" Eloquent, I know, but I could barely breathe, let alone speak. That one word took a monumental amount of effort. I wiped at the tears stinging my eyes. I hadn't laughed this hard in years.

"Why would you let him do something like that?"

"Hey, I was just relieved that they left without realizing how remarkably good Dean looks for a serial killing corpse. Which is why we really do need to spring you ASAP. Last thing we need is the FBI on our asses."

"Oh, thank God!"

"I'll go see if I can figure out what you're going to need once you're out of here without raising any suspicion. The two of you get ready to roll. I don't want the cops showin' up tryin' to figure out why we're taking you outta here. The fewer complications we have, the better."

* * *

I'd only been gone long enough to sweet talk Sammy's nurse into explaining to me the details of his treatment, and then to break into the pharmacy to steal his meds, along with a few other odds and ends to restock our first aid kits. I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of the cop outside Sam's door. It was one of the two from before. He was trying to look casual, but I could tell that he was on guard duty. This couldn't be good. Where the hell was Dean? Was he in the room? Had they recognized him? I had to get rid of that cop and figure out what was going on.

I turned down a corridor to gain some distance and think up a plan when I ran right into Dean.

"Dean? What the hell's goin' on?"

"They were watchin' the Impala. I went down to get Sammy's bag and there was a cop stakin' it out. I coulda knocked him out but that just would have let them know we were on to them. When I got back up here, one of the cops was going inside Sam's room and the other was waiting out here. I was waiting here for you to come back."

"Fuck! Why didn't you call my cell?"

Dean looked offended at the question. "Dude! When was the last time you plugged it in? It went straight to voicemail."

I pulled out my phone and sure enough, it was dead. Shit. "Alright, kid. We're gonna have to take out the two cops. The one outside… I've got something that should knock him out." I held up the corner of the duffel I was carrying. "I drag him inside, you take the cop in the room. We cuff them and lock them in Sam's bathroom."

"We'll need a wheelchair for Sammy."

"Okay. We need to dress you like a doctor, complete with a mask, and I'll put on a robe and you push me in a chair. The cop likely won't even look at me twice."

"'kay."

The first part of our plan went off without a hitch. I was able to grab the cop's gun with one hand while I injected him with a heavy sedative with the other. He collapsed almost before he could begin to struggle. Dean just pushed me into the room with the cop basically in my lap. I was even able to ignore the little voice in my head that whispered that Dean probably would have made a great doctor if he'd wanted to. The second part went off even better. The cop in the room looked over at the sudden intrusion and Sammy used his momentary distraction to sucker punch him. The cop went down like a sack of potatoes.

In less than ten minutes, we had the cops stuffed in the tiny bathroom and Sammy in the wheelchair and halfway to the car. "Can you take care of the cop watching the car?"

Dean nodded as the elevator doors closed on us. "It was my fault."

"Son, it's not your fault. I've got a few warrants myself. For all we know if could be about one of them. Even if it's not, hunter's always get jammed up by the law eventually. Occupational hazard."

"No… I mean. It's my fault. I called Henfrickson. I told him I was alive, what I did."

"You did _what_?" Dean flinched at my tone and I put a reign on my temper. Bitching the boy out wouldn't do any good, but why the hell would he do such a thing? The kid was smart, smarter then he'd ever admit to, but sometimes I swear he was self-destructive. "We'll talk about this later. Let's just get the hell out of here." He gave me a single, tight nod, but refused to look at me. Were we back to that? I swore under my breath as the elevator doors opened. Thankfully it hadn't stopped at all during the ride to the floor above the one where we'd parked the Impala. It was hell on wheels (literally) to control a wheelchair with someone as heavy as Sammy was going downhill, and he was too weak to walk fast enough let alone far enough, but it was smarter to take the ramp down to the car then the stairs or elevators. They may have more people, may be watching the exits now too. When we got there, there was still only the one cop. They were obviously waiting for the FBI to arrive. Gotta love these small towns. We left him cuffed, gagged and locked in the back of his own cruiser. Added a nice pump action shotgun to our collection.

* * *

"You're gonna have to help me out with this kiddo, cause I don't get it."

We'd been driving in silence for over a hundred miles before I was finally convinced that we weren't being followed. I'd switched plates about seventy miles back with another car and would probably do it all over again soon. Dean was sitting listlessly in the passenger's seat staring at nothing when he wasn't checking on Sammy, who was white as a sheet. The poor kid looked like the ride was killing him. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd been cut upon and rearranged and I didn't have the luxury of going slow and easy, so it probably was. We were taking the scenic route to Bobby's and we were finally almost there, so he'd be able to rest then.

"I wasn't the only one."

"What?"

He licked his lips nervously. "I wasn't the only one they raped. It was… something they used to keep the entire town under control. One of the things, anyway. The sheriff was behind it all. He would send them after people, cover it all up. But the thing was… the thing was, the people who owned that bar? They had every reason to want them dead. They were after the oldest daughter that night. Went after the youngest daughter later. All to keep the father from going to the feds. So I… I couldn't exactly stick around and turn myself in, so I called someone I knew would believe me. Someone who could keep those ass-wipe state cops form coming up with the wrong answers. I mean, what were they gonna say? Some guy shows up from the health department and tells them to shut down? With no paperwork, no way to contact him? They would have looked guilty. And you know the state police were going to take _someone_ down for killing a cop, Dad."

I glanced at Sam in the rear view mirror. He looked as horrified as I felt. What kind of cold hearted bastards did that to other people? Demons, werewolves, vampires, okay. I get that. Evil in the supernatural I'd come to expect. But evil in humanity always threw me. As much as I tried to figure it out, it just never added up. I turned my mind back to the matter at hand. "I get it. I really do. Just… can you give the old man a head's up about this kinda thing next time around, son?"

"'m sorry."

I reached over and cupped the back of his head briefly, rubbing at his scalp with a thumb. "I know you are. It'll be alright."

Dean snorted softly. "I don't see how. Hendrickson's like a dog with a bone. He's not lettin' go anytime soon."

"We'll figure it out."

"You should leave me."

His words shot panic through me and I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. "What?"

"You should leave me," he repeated as if I was actually hard of hearing, as if it wasn't the idea of my kid out there alone and vulnerable with some obsessed fed after him that was causing my reaction. "As long as you're with me, you'll both be in danger. Hendrickson wants _me_. He's not nearly as interested in you and Sammy, but he'll hang you both right along with me with a freaking song and a smile."

"For God's sake, stop being an idiot Dean," Sam said from the back seat. I glanced back to see him glaring at the back of his brother's head. "We're not leaving you."

"It's the only thing that makes sense!"

"Dean, you're brother's right. There's no way in hell we're leaving you and that's final. If you try to sneak off, I'll just find you and drag your ass back. We're in this together, remember? If we can take on Azazel together, we can damn well take on one fucking FBI agent."

Dean stared at me in disbelief for a second before laughing. "You're a crazy bastard, Dad."

I snorted and shrugged. "Yeah. You had to get it from somewhere, kid."

"You're gonna get _caught_, Dad. 'Cause o' _me_. 'Cause I'm a god damn fuck up."

"Jesus Christ, boy! You're not a fuck up. You're my son! We're not leaving you, and you're not leaving us. That's final! Do you read me, soldier?" I heard Sam snort from the back seat, but thankfully he kept whatever thoughts he was having to himself.

Dean was silent for a moment as he laid his head against the side window and closed his eyes. "Yessir," he finally said softly.

"Good. If you have any constructive suggestions to make, I'm all ears. I don't want to hear any more of this shit about you leaving, or how everything's your fault."

* * *

"So… assaulting three cops, false imprisonment, theft of hundreds of dollars worth of controlled substances and medical supplies. You three ijits couldn't just check the kid out AMA like normal people?"

I shrugged my shoulders, looking far more casual then I felt. Bobby was right. We were definitely racking up the prison points. "What can I say? It's how we roll."

Sammy was upstairs asleep. Passed out was more like it. After our little adventure, the long car ride and all the drugs we'd pumped into the boy. Dean was upstairs in his room. I'd pretended not to see the fifth of whiskey he'd taken upstairs with him. Kid had a right to get a little shitfaced right about now. Hell, I wish I had the luxury of at least catch a little sleep myself. But I promised Dean we'd work this out, and I didn't think I could rest until I at least had the beginnings of a way to do it.

"You boys can't learn to 'roll' with a little more finesse?"

Finesse… yeah, finesse might be nice to try out one of these days. Would be a nice departure from the usual fumbling. "There you go again with those five dollar words. I keep tellin' you, all your efforts to sweet talk me are in vain. You're so not my type."

Bobby snorted. "Yeah, whatever John. This'll all blow over eventually."

"Some of it will. But those murder charges Dean's looking at…"

"Yeah. That's gonna be a little trickier to deal with. Think we can find another 'shifter to take his place in a morgue again?"

I laughed. "Somehow I don't think we're gonna get that lucky. Dean actually said he wanted us to leave him."

"What?"

"That's exactly what I said. I can't believe he actually said it, like I'd ever just leave him by the side of the road like so much bad baggage. The only time I've ever left him was to save his impulsive selfless ass."

"He's afraid he'll get you caught."

"Yeah. That about sums it up. But that's the least of our worries. We still got Azazel to deal with. That son of a bitch Walker's still out there somwhere."

"Jesus." Bobby shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. "I never seen anyone accumulate bad luck like a Winchester."

"Ain't that the truth."

"So you got a plan?"

I shrugged again and grinned. "Always got a plan, Bobby. Just don't have a clue what it is yet."

Bobby rolled his eyes and snorted out a laugh.

_

* * *

_

A/N:

_Thanks, __**enviousxbeauty**__. I partly wanted people to understand what was going on in the background of this scene too, since it's months after Dean's call to Hendrickson._

_I'm glad you enjoyed it, __**babyreaper**__. I hope you're feeling better!_

_LOL, __**redgriffin7**__! I love Hendrickson too. I think a lot of times the mistake we make is we simplify people. Dean's insecure and had a dangerous unstable childhood, therefore John's evil. He's trying to put Dean in jail, therefore Hendrickson's evil. Etc. That's just too… neat, you know? The truth is always a lot more complex and messy._

_Yeah, I know __**rog457**__. Dean just didn't have enough drama in his life. I tried to explain Dean's rationale behind calling Hendricksonin his own words to his father. I hope that satisfies you, because it makes perfect sense to me and fits in with Dean's character. He's completely selfless when trying to saveinnocent people, almost to the point of appearing self-destructive._

_Right, __**greendaypumpkin**__! He thinks Dean's this total evil genius who has it in for him._

_I was going for that sense of wrongness, __**NongPradu**__. I'm glad I succeeded. Hendrickson identifies with Dean more than he is willing to admit. And he has no clue that they're on the same side._

_I've already checked out a lot of your favorites, __**smartassmusicjunkie94**__. I like your taste. I'm glad you liked the last chapter._

_Thanks __**Aimed mischief**__!_

_Thank you, __**Yammy**__!_

_-Angie_


	25. Stooges

**Stooges**

I sat on Sam Winchester's abandoned hospital bed, my face in my hands, as I tried to calm down. It was taking me a very long time. Every time I thought I'd succeeded I'd remember something from Larry, Curly and Moe's recount of their spectacular fuck up. Actually, Larry had done most of the talking. I'd left Moe out in the parking garage, where he was still lamenting the loss of his fucking shotgun and Curly was just standing next to Larry looking guilty. No wonder the Winchesters always went for small towns.

"I _was_ speaking English when I said not to go near them until I got here, wasn't I?" My voice sounded much calmer than I felt.

Larry and Curly, the two cops that we'd extricated from the bathroom – cuffed to the toilet with their own damn bracelets – looked at each other and had the good grace to blush. "Y-yes sir," Larry finally stammered out. "I thought older on, the one on the poster that you said was psycho, had put the younger one in here. I thought maybe he'd-"

"You thought? You thought? What? That you'd just ride in on your white horse and the kid would be so happy for a rescue that he'd turn on his brother? Did I tell you to fucking _think_?" I was screaming at them, and they were lucky that was all I was doing. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I could almost hear by sister harping at me to watch my blood pressure. "Okay. This is what we're gonna do. I want an APB out on them and their car in the surrounding counties and I want their pictures on every news station. Armed and dangerous. We're going on a manhunt, boys, and we're going to canvass every gas station, abandoned building and hotel within a two hundred mile radius."

"They could be a lot further than that," offered Curly, the one who had kept silent so far. I was just relieved that he didn't pull out a horn and honk it. Or was that Harpo? I snorted and shook my head.

"Not with the youngest boy only a few days out of surgery, they're not. The Winchesters might be bat shit crazy, but they take care of each other. That's why they stole all that medication before they left. Now get out of here before I pistol whip you with your own damn guns."

Dean Winchester. It was like trying to chase down the love child of David Berkowitz and fucking Harry Houdini. And now the father had rejoined them. The man who'd made him what he was. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but I had a feeling I would find out soon enough.

* * *

"I woke up feeling like my tongue was swollen to twice its size. Probably the pain killers and all the other drugs my father had pumped into me. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was trying to OD me.

"So, you've rejoined the land of the living. I was beginning to think we'd have to find a prince to come kiss you."

I squinted over at Bobby, who was sitting in a chair next to my bed. "Hey, Bobby." I coughed a little, my throat feeling swollen and abused. It felt like my gut was being ripped open. By the time I managed to stop, I was shaking and sweating. Bobby was holding a spoon to my mouth. I opened it and felt a burst of cold in my mouth that quickly became wet. Ice. I sighed gratefully and let Bobby spoon feed me a few more pieces. I figured it was okay as long as Dean and Dad weren't around to see. I finally moved my arm to take the spoon myself and felt a sharp prick. I lifted it up and looked at the inside of my wrist to see that an IV was taped to my arm. Huh. When had that happened?

"You started runnin' a fever. Been out for two days. Scared the hell outta your people. Your Daddy finally passed out a couple of hours ago after the fever broke. Dean followed suit a little while ago. You should see 'em, all snuggled up on the couch droolin' on each other. Got some real cute pictures on my phone. Makes learnin' to use the damn thing worth it."

I laughed, feeling the stitches pull. "Damn it Bobby, don't make me laugh. So, two days?"

"Yeah. Want me to let 'em know you're awake?"

I shook my head, my movements, like my voice, coming slow and thick. I felt weak. "Let 'em sleep. They probably haven't more than a couple hours here and there since Gordon showed up."

"That'd probably be right."

"What about you?"

Bobby frowned down at me. "What about me?"

"You ever sleep?"

He snorted out a laugh. "I keep gettin' that question. I slept plenty while you three geniuses were out addin' to your rap sheets."

"Thanks Bobby."

"You're welcome, Sam. Get some rest. I'll be back in a while to see if you can hold down some broth."

I was asleep almost before he finished his sentence.

* * *

I felt warm and drowsy from the broth that Bobby had fed me. I let myself drift, unable to hold on to any train of thought long enough to focus on it. I felt the bed shift and my eyes opened in alarm. I'd almost forgotten where I was, that I was safe, that I wasn't tied to a chair anymore. Dad sat on the edge of the bed looking down at me.

"Hey, son. It's good to see those eyes again."

"Sorry I worried you."

Dad snorted. "I'm always worried. Occupational hazard. Can't be helped."

"How long was I out this time?"

"Just a couple of hours." He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. "Sleep is your best friend right now, since the fever's broken and you're mending again. We'll still have to finish your course of antibiotics, just to make sure. How ya feelin', bud?"

I cleared my throat. "Like someone cut me open, rearranged everything, sewed me back up and then ran me over with a truck."

Dad quirked an eyebrow at me, his expression half amusement and half sympathy. "That good, huh?"

"You guys still goin' after that cult?"

"Yeah. Don't see much choice."

"I won't be able to go."

"I know. You'll have to stay here and man the fort."

I couldn't' help rolling my eyes. "Dad, I'm not seven."

"No, but you are wounded. You'll be more of a hindrance than a help."

"Yeah."

"You can help your old man with the research, that is if you think you can stay awake long enough."

I snorted. "I think I can manage." I yawned before I could get the whole sentence out and he laughed.

"If you say so." He pulled the covers up around me, and put his hand on my chest. It reminding me of the times when I was little and ha d a cold or the flue. Dad staying home with me and playing nursemaid. All the times I had forgotten about because I was too busy being pissed because he wasn't normal to remember them.

* * *

"You know, Bobby or Dad can do this. Hell, I can probably manage it myself."

"'s okay, Sammy." I could barely hear the tension in Dean's voice. Anyone who didn't know him as well as I did wouldn't have heard it at all. It was like the shaking in his usually rock steady hands as he efficiently changed my bandages. Barely there.

"You don't have to push yourself."

He paused briefly to look up at me. "Dude, will you can it?"

I tried. I really did. I sat there damn near biting my tongue in half while he cleaned and redressed my incision before I couldn't take it any longer. "You don't have to prove anything to anybody Dean. I mean, maybe… Maybe if we talk about it…"

"I talk about it enough with Missouri, thanks Sam."

That right there, the clipped way Dean said my name, should have told me to stop. But just like with Dad, I ignored all the warning signs and charged full steam ahead. "It might make things a little easier."

"Easier? Really Sam?"

"I just feel like we need to do _something_…"

"What the hell do you wanna do Sammy? Put on some pj's and braid each other's hair? Have some sort of big healing moment?"

"I just… There's this huge _thing_ between us now. I want us to be the way we used to be, I want being in a room alone with me not to freak you out, I want you to stop ignoring the fact that it does."

"God, dude!" Dean stood up in a burst of movement, angrily throwing things back into the first aid kit. "This isn't about you or about our relationship! I… I can't help it if my skin crawls every time I'm in the same room with you. I can't help what I remember or when I remember it or what face I see in my nightmares. I can't help that I freeze up sometimes when you get too close. I wish to god I could, but I can't."

"I know, Dean. That's why we have to deal with this."

"Will you let me finish? I _can_ help how _I_ deal with it. If there's an occasional freak out or problem, 's not your fault and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Just the way it is right now. We'll get past this like we did before 'cause you're my brother and I would fucking die for you. That's never gonna change."

"But you never… you never forgave the bastards who raped you."

"They were a bunch of sick fucks who thought they had a right to do whatever the hell they wanted. They weren't _you_, Sam. They weren't _possessed_."

"But it was right. I do hurt you sometimes, Dean."

"Yeah. And I embarrass you on purpose. We're brothers, dude. You can't be close to somebody and not inflict pain occasionally. I know half the shit that thing was shoveling was lies, and the other half was so twisted it might as well have been. It just took me a while to get my mind right is all."

"So I'm off the hook? Just like that?"

"You were never on the hook in the first place, Sammy."

"Look, Dean-"

"Jesus, man! Do we really have to do this?"

"I just want to say one thing, and I swear I'll shut up."

Dean sighed. "Fine."

"I know sometimes I'm a jerk to you, but you're my hero. You always have been."

There was silence for a second too long. "Just had to turn this into a chick flick moment didn't you, Samantha?"

"Sorry."

"If you start singing Wind Beneath My Wings, I'm gonna have to kill you."

I laughed as much as my injuries would let me, which wasn't much more then a couple of snorts. "I won't. I think my singing would probably kill us both anyway."

"That would be true. Feel up to tackling the stairs? The old man's going over the final plans for getting inside the cult."

We found Dad downstairs torturing Bobby, who looked uncomfortable in a drab brown robe. "Hey boys."

"I changed his bandages," Dean said as he picked up one of the three open beers on the table and dropped into one of the chairs, all lose limbed and relaxed the way he only ever was when he was in the same room with Dad. "The incision looks better."

"Good. Tell Bobby how adorable he looks in his new outfit."

"Looks like one of those friars from back in the day," Dean offered. "Like in Robin Hood."

"I don't know who's the bigger ijit," Bobby groused as he adjusted the robes, "you for coming up with these damn fool ideas or me for goin' along with ya."

"Oh stop your bitchin'," Dad said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You look adorable." Dean snorted and almost chocked on his beer.

"One more word outta you, Winchester, and I swear I'll shoot you so full o' buckshot you'll set off metal detectors 20 miles away!"

Dad's eyebrows tried to climb into his hairline as he fought a losing battle with laughter. "Fine. No need to get all bitchy on me."

"Why do I have to wear this again?"

Dad shrugged. "You don't. I just wanted to see if I could get you to try it on."

Bobby stared at Dad for a second. "You rotten son of a bitch!"

"It's for Dean, actually. Once he gets into the compound, he's going to put it on so he can wonder around incognito. Most of the people inside will be wearing those."

"How's he supposed to get in," I asked, unease settling in my stomache. heavy and sour.

"New convert. Bobby and I have been setting it up for weeks. They were expecting two, but I think we have a good cover story for there only being one."

"Can't we wait a few months? I should be good to go in two, three tops."

"They cut through your abdominal muscles, Sammy. That's gonna take more than two months to completely heal, and I'm not sending either of you in there at anything less than one hundred percent. It was dicey putting this together, too long a delay could scuttle the whole thing."

"You can't just send Dean in there by himself!

"Dude!" Dean was glaring at me, his expression thunderous as he interrupted. "I'm a grown man. I'm almost thirty for God's sake. I've hunted by myself before. I think I can handle _this_, thank you very much!"

"That's not the point, Dean! You should have back up!" I turned back to Dad. "He's your goddamn _son_, Dad! Not some expendable soldier you can just send behind enemy lines with a pat on the back and hope he comes back in one piece!"

I could hear Dean muttering underneath his breath.

"You think Dean's _expendable_ to me? Is that what I just heard you say, son?" Dad was up on his feet, his face red.

I blinked at Dad, and yeah… that's _exactly_ what I'd just said. And what the fuck had happened to me trying not to make him want to put me over his knee? I closed my eyes and willed myself to take a step back, to calm down. "That's what I said, but I know it's not true. I'm sorry. I'm just…" I took a deep breath. "I'm scared, okay?" And why the fuck did it hurt so much to admit that? Yelling was so much easier than this. And I'd always thought that Dean and Dad were the emotionally handicapped ones. Maybe I wasn't much better. "I don't want Dean to go in there by himself because I know that there's a very real possibility that he might not come back and I don't understand why it doesn't seem to bother you at all. One minute, you're this great Dad and the next you're sending him into these dangerous situations? How do you do that?"

Dad's face twitched and he looked away. "You think I _want_ to? You think I wake up in the morning thinking of ways I can endanger my children? I do it because I don't see any choice other than the three of us just killing ourselves and being done with it. If it's any consolation, son? As much as you hate me for it, I hate myself for it even more."

He walked out of the room leaving an uneasy silence behind him.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get to this. I had an AU that was trying to eat my brain... or at least whatever's left of it._

_Thank you __**enviousxbeauty**__! I'm glad you liked it._

_It's okay, __**rog457**__. Dean said that too when his father freaked out about it just before they went in search of Sam. I think that last line just sums up the way John looks at life to me. There's always a solution, even if it's not perfect or everyone will think you're a bastard for even coming up with it. There's no such thing as an impossible situation._

_LOL, __**babyreaper**__, as someone who has four big brothers and two big sisters, I think that's just the way older siblings are._

_I love writing John, __**redgriffin7**__. He's just such a complex character. And yeah, there's a lot going on. _

_I don't know, __**requitv**__. I never thought being a son and being a soldier were mutually exclusive. In this story, John's repeatedly made it clear that he values Dean most as a son, that he loves him unconditionally, that he's proud of him, even reminded him in the same breath as his order that he was his son. At any rate, I don't think that John calling Dean a soldier (something that Dean likes to be considered) is more damaging than Sam calling him an idiot (something that Dean doesn't like to be considered)._

_Thanks, __**smartassmusicjunkie94**__!_

_That's just so Dean, though greendaypumpkin. Actually, all of them would probably suggest that the others leave them. They just do guilt so well. I'm shocked they haven't had an argument yet about who was most at fault for everything that's gone wrong._

_Thanks, __**Yammy1983**__! I love John's relationship with Dean. And Bobby deserves his own fan club._

_I don't know, __**cc**__. I kind of think being possessed is the ultimate get out of jail free card._

_-Angie_


	26. Lucky

**Lucky**

"Dude! You broke Dad!" I could hear Dean's furious whisper from the other room and it would have been funny if I didn't feel like it was the truth.

"What?" Sam was flustered, the way he usually was when he was taken off guard.

"You. Broke. Dad!"

"I didn't… I mean, I wasn't…"

"What are you doin', John Winchester?"

I looked up to see Missouri staring at me like she was about to launch into one of her damn lectures. I was sitting at the kitchen table, face buried in my hands, trying to close the wound that my youngest had ripped open. Not that it ever healed, mind you, but I could usually keep it bandaged, and it would scab over. But right now it was open and bleeding out. "For god's sake, Missouri. Not now. Can't you give me ten minutes to pull myself together?"

"Why don't you just explain it to him?"

"What?"

"Do you have good reasons for sending that boy in there without backup?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then explain them to him."

"I don't understand why he can't just trust me."

"He does. But he's not Dean. He's too much like you to ever be Dean."

I laughed at that, because, yeah. It was true. I could see parts of myself in both my boys… but my stubbornness? My sometimes admittedly obsessive need to _understand_? Sammy'd gotten far more than his fair share of both of those. "Yeah. Yeah."

I nodded to myself. I could have my pity party later. I got up and went back into the living room to find Bobby watching my boys argue in furious, strained whispers with an exasperated amusement that was pure Bobby. Both boys stopped abruptly as they realized I was back, looking a lot like they did when they were smaller and I caught them in the middle of some mischief. I had to smile to myself at that. My boys got into a hell of a lot of mischief growing up, I reflected as I returned to my previous seat. I looked over at Sam. He was the one who really needed to hear this. Dean already knew. Not because he'd been told, but because for whatever reason he simply believed in me.

"When your Mom died… when your Mom died, I had a couple of options." I twisted my wedding ring. It had become something other than a reminder of Mary to me. it had come to symbolize my vow to keep our boys safe and a reminder of what would happen if I failed at that objective. Pinned to a ceiling or bleeding in an alley, didn't matter the method, the result was still the same. Dean was sitting slumped in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He looked like he wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to anything I was saying but I knew better. "I could close my eyes and pretend I never saw what I saw. That it was just stress screwing with my perceptions. I could pretend that it was just a temporary suspension of reality and that it would never happen again as long as I ignored it. I could abandon my already traumatized and damn near catatonic four year old and my possibly targeted by some unknown supernatural enemy six month old while I went traipsing off to figure shit out. Or I could suck it the fuck up and protect my children.

"Now a lot of people including you thought, still think, that keeping the two of you with me was a selfish thing to do. But it wasn't. Because Dean did a hell of a lot of the heavy lifting with raising you, but I was the one who got up for the midnight feedings and stayed up with you when you had colic or the flu or were teething. I was the one who had to figure out how to keep two growing boys fed and clothed and sheltered. It would have been so much easier to either pretend that everything was normal and stay were we had a steady income and a stable life and plenty of neighbors willing to lend a hand or make the two of you someone else's problems. I freely admit that I made a shit load of mistakes along the way, but I don't regret for one minute that I kept you with me, that I kept you safe the best way I knew how. You were never _problems_ to me. I know the damage I did in making the decisions I made. I see it and it eats at me. But I don't regret it… I can't. Because the alternative was so much worse.

"We got choices today too, Sammy, and they range from fucked up to just plain stupid. We can let this year go by without making any sort of progress on getting rid of that yellow-eyed bastard, or we can maintain standard operating procedure – striking where we can, when we can and how we can. I say we take the second option even though it's dangerous.

"Now, your brother was a better Marine at _fifteen_ than half the damn Corps. Right now? He's got all the experience of a ten year special forces vet. If anyone can pull this off solo, its him. I trust him more alone than everyone else I've ever worked with combined. Caleb's hip deep in a hunt, I don't know where the hell Joshua is, and I don't know anyone else I'd trust Dean's back to. It's always better to go alone than end up stuck with some stupid fuck who's a liability. That's why I've never allowed Dean to hunt with anyone other than you, Bobby, Caleb, Jim and me. There's not a single other soul in the goddamn universe I trust with his life. And to be honest with you? I trust him with mine a lot more than anyone I've ever known.

"So you tell me, son. What should we do?"

"Follow your plan. But I don't have to like it."

"Join the fucking club, Sammy." I spread my hands over the map I had spread out over Bobby's coffee table. "We done with this? Can we get to the plan."

Sam gave a jerky nod.

"Oh, thank god," Dean said melodramatically, his eyes rolling eloquently.

I snorted. "Get your ass over here boy and memorize the lay of the land."

He moved over to crouch next to my chair, soaking up every detail of my plan like a sponge, only interrupting to ask a relevant question every once in a while. He'd been like that his entire life… always absorbing anything that he thought was worth his time with a quickness and ease that was almost frightening. "You got it?" I finally asked.

He nodded. "Get in, get what we need, get out. Simple."

That was Dean. He understood how dangerous this was, knew how careful he'd have to be. But he wasn't going to make a big deal out of it. "Exactly. Now the two of you go get some grub before Missouri comes in here and drags you into the kitchen by your ears. I think she was done with lunch when I was in there. No more beer tonight, Dean. Hit the sack right after supper."

"Sir." Dean looked over at his little brother. "Need help, dude?"

"I think I can manage." Sam didn't look happy. I understood why, but I hoped he would just let it go.

I sat back and let out a long breath when the two finally left Bobby and me alone.

"And they say an old dog can't learn new tricks. You actually had a civil disagreement with Sam. That's gotta be one of the signs of the Apocalypse or somethin'."

"You actually approving of somethin' I did, Bobby?"

"Hell, John. Even a broken clock's right twice a day."

I snorted. "Gee, thanks."

"They're good boys, John. You did a lot right by 'em."

"Yeah. And I did a lot wrong too. You point it out often enough."

He let out a small huff. "Yeah. All our parents fuck us up, John. Just a fact of life."

"You're just a big ball o' comfort today, aren't ya Bobby?"

"Hey, you made me wear that damn robe. You're lucky I'm even speakin' to your ass."

"You sent pictures of me asleep with Dean droolin' on my shoulder to your entire contacts list!"

"Oh. That worked?" Bobby frowned at me.

"Yes. It worked Bobby. I know this because I'm in your fucking contacts list. So's Dean, by the way. He probably just thinks you sent it to him. Wait till he figures it out."

Bobby snorted in his attempt not to laugh.

* * *

"I'll be okay, Dad."

Dean had dragged a roll-away bed into my room. I had no idea where he'd gotten it, but he was obviously tired of sharing a bed with me. Unless of course he woke up from a nightmare. Then he'd silently get into my bed, trembling and trying not to be too obvious about the fact that he was crying. But he was mending, piece by piece. I could see that much. The nightmares were getting fewer and further in between. Dean had never been big on nightmares anyway. Right now he was trying to reassure me, saying things in the cover of darkness that he'd never say in the light of day. "I know son."

"I won't even be in that long. Just enough time for them to leave me alone so I can change into the robe and find the information we need. I'm good at that. I'm good at not getting caught, especially when I'm alone."

I snorted. "Yeah. It took me nearly a year to figure out you were sneakin' out to go tomcattin' around that one time we had that apartment. I didn't know whether to be proud of you for being so good at it or wring your neck for even doin' it in the first place."

"I'll be fine Dad. I… I trust you."

"I know you do, Dean-o. I trust you too. Now go to sleep."

He snorted and rolled over. It wasn't long before I heard him slide into sleep. What the hell had I done to deserve a son like Dean? I was pretty sure that I hadn't done anything. I'd just gotten lucky. And I was scared as hell that I would lose him.

* * *

Morning came entirely too quickly. Dean was up before I was, already running through reps of sit ups trying to burn off the excess energy he always got before something like this. The boy definitely had the attitude of a marine. Get in, get it done, get home. I streatching, feeling my abused joints pop into place, before forcing myself out of bed.

"Mornin' Dad. Missouri's cookin' breakfast. Bobby had some sort of argument with her about who's kitchen it was. A little while ago. She won. I don't think I've ever seen anyone kick Bobby out of his own kitchen."

I snorted. "How the hell did I sleep through that?"

"It didn't last long." He'd barely broken a sweat, but he wiped at his face anyway. "Get enough sleep, old man?"

Which was really Dean-speak for 'you look like warmed over shit.' "I'm good. Just need some caffeine."

"I can get you some."

"Nah. I'll get my own while you hit the head. Need to go over the plan again, double check everything. Wheels up in a little under three hours, kiddo."

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, his knee jiggling as he stared at the plate of untouched food in front of him. Missouri was bustling around doing God only knew what women did in kitchens besides cooking and eating. "Mornin'."

I was greeted with a chorus of "Mornin'" from the two other occupants of the kitchen.

"That grub do somethin' to offend you, son?" I asked casually as I headed straight for the pot of fresh coffee. Just the smell alone was waking me up.

"No sir."

I poured myself a cup and watched him over the rim of the mug for a second. He was still staring. His leg was still jiggling. "Got somethin' on your mind?" There was a time when that would have been a provocation. A response to an attitude that had gotten on my last nerve. An invitation to begin the screaming fight I knew he was itching to start. But now it was an honest inquiry because the boy just looked wound too tight. And Sammy wound too tight was never a good thing.

He seemed to take the question as intended, raised one shoulder in a lackluster shrug, still staring and jiggling. Where the hell had he gotten that damn annoying nervous tick from anyway? "Son, you're gonna wear out your leg."

He stopped the jiggling and snorted. "I'm sorry."

"It's your leg."

"No, I mean yesterday. I should never have implied that you don't care about putting Dean in danger."

"I know Sammy. We both say things we don't mean when we're scared."

Sam snorted and sat back in his chair relaxing for the first time. "Yeah. I just wish I could go with him. If I hadn't gone so far away from the house that day Gordon grabbed me…"

I sat down at the table across from him. I noticed that Missouri was still pretending to be busy, but she was really just listening. "If is the most dangerous word in the English language, Sam. What happened happened. You can't go back and undo it. We just have to play the hand we're dealt."

Sam nodded and began pushing the food around with his fork. Well, that was progress. At least he was touching it rather than simply staring at it like it had killed his puppy. "I just… I want us all to be safe."

"I want that too. But I'm afraid safe is just an illusion. I don't think any of us will ever really believe in it again. And I'm sorry for that."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Me too."

Dean walked into the room in a burst of repressed excitement and nerves. "Hey Sammy. Missouri…" he said as he sat down next to Sam and stole a piece of his beacon – it was gonna take a hell of a lot more than a case of pre-mission nerves to ever put a dent in Dean's appetite, "you're looking especially good today. Did you do something with your hair?"

She tried to glare at him, but without much luck, as she put a plate in front of him. I looked up at her. "Don't I get anything to eat?"

"You've got legs, John." With that she was gone to do whatever it was she did when she wasn't around. Most women were complete mysteries to me, but Missouri was in a class all by herself.

I glared at my sons, who were both trying not to laugh. "Not one word."

Sammy was eating now, and Dean was teasing him and trying to steal more of his food. Yeah… I'd gotten lucky in that whole parental lottery thing.

* * *

_A/N:_

_LOL, __**Nicole**__. For all of their manliness, the Winchesters can be drama queens, can't they? What do you mean I can't leave them alone? I don't know what in the world you're talking about… As for Bobby and John. I love writing these two, both from the inside through John's pov and from the outside through the boys. They're a lot of gruff, grouchy fun._

_We'll find out next chapter __**deangirl1**__…_

_Sorry, __**redgriffin7**__. I love Sammy, but sometimes I just want to smack him upside his loveable head, you know? The poor guy just can't help himself. He's always gotta ask the questions nobody wants to answer._

_Thanks __**Yammy1983**__!_

_Yeah, __**rog457**__… Hendrickson's search for Dean is just one big never ending frustration. You almost can't help but feel for the guy. It's not like he's evil or crazy… he's just clueless. Yeah, Dean is good at sucking it up and doing what needs doing. And between the frustration of being Hendrickson and that of being John… I think it would be easier to be Hendrickson._

_There are times when they don't, __**babyreaper**__, but they're few and far between. I think they're getting better. John's not treating Sam like he's still five and Sam's learning to step back and actually talk rather than accuse. Of course he almost broke John, so I'm not sure how much you want to call that progress…_

_Thanks __**talon81**__. Hope you enjoy this chapter._

_Thank you so much, __**Gohanzgirl**__! Welcome to my twisted imagination. I hope you continue to enjoy your stay._

_Exactly, __**NongPradu**__. Hendrickson fits here so well primarily because for once, he did get it all right. Dean did exactly what he believes Dean did *this time* even if he still has the overall narrative wrong. And that creates a whole new dilemma, doesn't it? And you're right that Dean hasn't really dealt with his most recent trauma adequately. He's rationalized it and compartmentalized it, but he hasn't really resolved it. But he also knows how to tough it out and do what he needs to do. Which one will win? The trauma, or Dean's ability to tough it out? Bobby suspects what happened on both counts. But he's never asked and no one has discussed it with him in so many words._

_Thanks, __**greendaypumpkin**__! And yeah, they have a long way to go. That's the problem with trauma. It only takes a few seconds to inflict, but it takes a hell of a long time to resolve._

_-Angie_


	27. Trap

**Trap**

The monastery smelled just like you'd expect one to smell, no matter which team they played for. Old and smoky. I wondered idly what the hell the universal appeal of incense was as I listened to Bobby talk to the guy in charge. I'd already noted all the exits, knew exactly where in the building I was. Bobby was telling them that as soon as the other prospect was well enough, he would bring him too. I almost snorted at that. Yeah, the only reason me and Sammy'd be coming back to this joint would be to torch it. That thought made me feel better 'cause this place was giving me one hell of a bad vibe.

The pictures on the wall were… freaky. People burning in pits and being tortured by demons. What must have been a demon that looked like a goat, only a lot bigger and creepier, standing upright while it ripped the flesh off someone's body. This shit was straight out of a horror movie only it actually managed to make my skin crawl, which was not an easy thing to do. I swallowed hard and decided that it would probably be a good idea not to pay too much attention to the pictures.

After shooting me a look that probably meant to watch my ass, Bobby finally left me alone with the monk who apparently saw to all the new recruits. He was a balding, middle aged man named Dave. Which was still one of the more amusing things I'd learned about evil over the years. People always expected evil things or people who helped or profited from evil things to have names that sounded sinister and maybe a little impressive. Like Dominic or some shit. But nine times out of ten it was just some normal looking schmoe named Dave.

"I understand you took a vow of silence, my son."

I nodded my head. _The better not to have to stand around talking to you about how wonderful Azazel is_, I thought. 'Cause I'd rather crawl over hot coals.

He nodded as if he understood completely. "This," he pointed up at the picture of the goat demon, "is Azazel. He will be your master after today. He and Lilith were the first, and he is Lucifer's favorite." I had to bite my tongue to keep quiet. Lucifer? As in _the_ devil, Lucifer? He kept going, sounding a little like Sam going on and on about a subject the freaking geek thought was interesting. "In serving Azazel, we serve Lucifer. There is much to do, Danny. The time is drawing near when we will rule humanity. The chosen ones, the vessels."

Sounded like a hell of a pension plan. Not enough for me to ever consider being one of Hell's bitches, but different strokes. He put his arm around me and began leading me down a darkened corridor. It was all I could do not to flinch. I didn't do too well with physical contact these days. Besides, this guy? Made me feel like I needed a long hot shower just _listening_ to him go on and on about how he was so eager tro bend over for the son of a bitch that had killed my mother and hunted my family. "Soon, you'll hear the bells sound the call to prayer. Today, you will stay in your room. Spend your time in solitude and meditation. Ready yourself for the beginning of your initiation tomorrow. You will be allowed to break your fast and your vow of silence tomorrow night."

He opened one of the dozens of doors down the hallway and motioned me inside. It was just big enough for a twin sized bed that was nothing but a lumpy mattress on a steel frame and a small two drawer chest. The window was too small for an anorexic teenaged girl to crawl through. The Hilton it definitely wasn't, but I'd stayed in worse. Not often though. Of course, I wouldn't be staying the night. Dave gave me a final smile that I suppose he meant to be reassuring and left me alone, revealing an upside-down cross on the door. Just when I was starting to think that maybe these assorted fruits, nuts and berries had avoided that little chestnut. Peachy.

* * *

When I pulled the robe out of the backpack a small yellow bag fell out onto the floor. Peanut m&m's. Huh. I bent down to pick it up and saw there was something written in sharpy on the bag. _Something to tide you over on the inside, sport._ Dad. I swear he thinks the answer to pretty much everything is peanut m&m's and pie. And he's pretty much right. I snorted and stuffed them back into the backpack.

It only took a minute to change into the robe. I was out of the broom closet that they called a bedroom and following the blueprints I'd memorized to the main offices in the center of the complex in less than five minutes. The whole place just gave the term creepy a whole new meaning. The air was oppressive and heavy, and even the sun coming through the small, clear windows seemed darker. The cowl hid my face and I mimicked the shuffling gait of the monks around me. I looked like everyone else and moved with a purpose. No one gave me a second glance, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

There was a small room right next to the head monk guy's office. I slipped inside to wait for the call to prayer and found myself in an office supply closet. Huh. That's one thing you don't expect to find in a monastery. Although, it does make sense when you really think about it. They had offices, they needed office shit. I wondered what kind demonic cult members prayed for while I waited. World war? Global famine?

The bells sounded and I took a deep breath. This was the beginning of the most dangerous part. Sneaking in to and then out of the office. If I got caught, there was a possibility that I could bullshit my way out of it, but it was small. Almost nonexistent. There was no valid reason why I wouldn't be attending the mandatory prayer, or why I would be in that office. There was a reason that it was in the center of the complex far away from the common areas. You didn't just wander in because you got turned around. I counted to a thousand before opening the door. I could feel adrenaline pumping into my system, sharpening my awareness.

The building was silent in the creepy way that always made me a little twitchy. I heard footsteps up ahead and barely had time to duck into an alcove before someone came rushing around the corner. I pressed myself into the wall, willing myself to be invisible, to become just part of the scenery. The last thing I needed was someone wondering why I was going the wrong damn way. I didn't breathe again until he'd passed me and his footsteps had rounded the next corner and begun to fade into the distance. I started moving again, quickly and silently.

The lock on the office door was a piece of cake. There was a bookcase against the far wall. I tried that first, but quickly decided nothing there was what we were looking for. Hell, Bobby had most of these books. I riffled through the large mahogany desk, hoping to find something. Anything. Like a post-it with the fixin's for a potion that would kill the yellow-eyed bastard. I snorted at the thought. If only it could be that easy. I glanced at the computer for a second. If Sammy where here… but no, I had a feeling that what I was looking for wasn't there either. I paced around the perimeter of the room, not certain what I was looking for but sure that I would know it when I saw it. I started looking at the wear patterns in the carpet. They were pretty much what you'd expect. Around the desk, up to the bookcase, to the door.. Except… except for this one area. They went straight to the wall. Straight to one of the butt ugly and completely disturbing pictures hanging on the wall. _Yatzee_, I thought as I tugged on the frame gently until I felt a catch on one side give. The picture was on a hinge and swung away from the wall to reveal a safe. I am the man.

The safe was better than the lock, so it took me more than a minute to crack it. Once I got it open, I wanted to close it again. Whatever was in there was so evil, it made my skin crawl and the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. There were several things in the safe, but my eyes were drawn to a book. A thick book, that looked really old. I reached in to pull it out, but as soon as my skin made contact with it, horrible images flashed through my mind too quickly for me to understand any of them, but they left me feeling sick and vaguely panicky. I pulled my hand back as if I had been burned. Hell, burning would have been better than whatever the hell that was. I took a deep breath and stared at the book. I knew that this was what I'd come here for. Dad always told me that I had good instincts and that I should trust my gut. Well, right now my gut was screaming that if there was a way to stop Azazel, it was in this book. My backpack was underneath the robe backwards, so that it would look like I had a beer belly when it was filled. I slipped it off and opened it, using the material of the bag to grasp the book and then upending it so it would slide in. Damn thing felt like it was vibrating, the energy of it seeping into me from my contact with the backpack. I quickly slipped it back under the robe, barely remembering to close the safe and put the picture back in place before making my way out of the office. The quicker I got this thing to Dad the better.

"Hello, Dean. Been waiting on you. Although I thought you'd bring Sammy with you."

I froze at the sound of the voice coming from directly behind me. Shit! I turned slowly to find myself face to face with one of the monks, his eyes black and a smirk on his face. Shit, shit, shit, shit! The sonovabitch knew me… knew my name, knew Sammy. This couldn't be good. "Let me guess. This was a trap?"

He chuckled darkly. "And everyone says you're the stupid one." His sarcasm wasn't hard to miss.

I clenched my jaw. It was an old joke. One I was really sick and fucking tired of hearing. "Where's everybody else?"

He looked even more amused. "Dude… you couldn't even handle my kid sister by yourself. I think you're a little outnumbered already."

"That so?" Without warning, I lashed out, breaking the nose of the possessed man and rocking his head back. I was moving, running for the room I'd hide in earlier, before he could recover. I'd learned my lesson about getting into a slug fest with a demon from NotSam. Just as I was halfway through the door of the supply room, I heard muttered cursing close behind me before I went flying into the room, hitting one of the steel shelving units. And fuck, that hurt like a sonovabitch! Why the hell did everything want to throw me? Werewolves, rawhides, demons. Didn't matter. They all seemed to think I was some sort of big volley ball.

There was another curse, this one louder and angrier. And in Sumerian. I looked up to see the demon standing just inside the doorway, glaring up at the 'trap I'd spray painted on the ceiling while I waited for the call to prayer. Dad always told us to be prepared for anything and there was no way in hell I was hanging out in a demonic cult without a devil's trap close by. It was my turn to chuckle. "Aren't ya glad you got the stupid one?" It hissed and snarled at me, blood from its host's broken nose running down its face. "What's the matter?" I stood up and tilted my head to the side until the joints in my neck cracked. Sonovabitch was just lucky that I couldn't figure out how to throw _him_. "I thought we were havin' fun here?"

"You're fuckin' _dead_, meatbag!"

I rolled my eyes at the threat. "Do me a favor, sparky. When you see your bitch of a little sister back home, let her know that I finally memorized that exorcism."

* * *

The demon cursed and threatened me with a violent and bloody death through the whole exorcism. Yeah, whatever buddy. Tell me something I don't already know. Finally it threw back the possessed man's head and erupted from his mouth. The monk fell to the ground and I left him there, trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey with packing tape, closing the door behind me. Now I just needed to get the hell out of here. Get back to Dad and Bobby.

* * *

_A/N: _

_John's trying __**rog457**__. I think for most parents, one of the hardest things about parenting is transitioning from treating your kids like kids to treating them like adults. In a way he's better at it with Dean because his relationship with Dean isn't so contentious and he also feels like Dean has learned most of the lessons he's tried to teach him successfully._

_LOL, __**Nicole**__. I think you're right about Dean's appetite. I love roqueclasique's stuff. I actually owe you a thank you. I discovered her a while back, but forgot to add her to my author alerts and you just reminded me! So thanks!_

_Dean's definitely still got some cracks in his armor, __**redgriffin7**__. Something like what he's gone through takes a while to get beyond, especially for an alpha male like Dean. It wasn't just an assault on his body… it was an assault on his identity. I love the banter between Bobby and John. It just seems to flow so easily. They're personalities mesh so well, you can really see them being friends. And not just the kind out o mutual necessity, but actually (begrudgingly) liking each other._

_Thanks __**Yammy**__!_

_Thanks, __**moira4eku**__. Poor John thinks it should all be obvious._

_I'm glad you liked the last chapter, __**nurple-girl**__. I hope you like this chapter._

_Sam and John are really working at it, __**greendaypumpkin**__._

_Glad you like the story, __**hpsupernaturalfan**__. Dean has done very little actual dealing with what's happened to him. It's kind of hard with everything going on. But I'm not going to gloss it over either. It'll get dealt with, even if it's in fits and starts._

_I think John had good times with both boys, __**NongPradu**__. Okay, so he never took them to baseball games. But he only knew Adam for like, what, four years? He found out about him after Sam was gone and then died four years later. And for __**three years**__ Adam went without hearing from John and never called. Not once. Compare his non-reaction to John's death to Sam's meltdowns. (Yeah, I know he was a ghoul, but according to the lore it was a near perfect mimic so at that point the ghoul's reactions = Adam's reactions) In my book? One baseball game was nothing compared to what Sam and Dean got from John every day. But Sam and John do just clash naturally. Dean complements them both in different ways… but they clash with each other._

_Thanks __**berkie88**__! Welcome to my freaky imagination! Bobby always rocks! I'm glad I gave you a new prospective on John. I think a lot of fanfic tends to oversimplify all of them. Dean's the doormat, Sam's dominant, John's an asswipe. But, really, that's not the truth. That's just the __**surface**__. Dean likes to keep peace, but he'll ride roughshod over Sam's ass so to speak if he thinks the situation warrants it, just like any other big brother. Sam wants to be independent, but he keeps falling into the little brother role without even realizing it. And John… John keeps ripping out pieces of himself trying to fix the world for his sons all the while trying to protect them from what little bits of reality he feels he safely can (not telling them everything about Azazel, or vampires b/c he thought they were extinct). Anyway, hope you like this update!_

_-Angie_


	28. Game

**Game**

Dad's rule number 17 for a successful egress: when you know that you're being expected, prepare a gift for your hosts. Who says Dad never taught me manners? The best place in the world to put together a little last minute present was a well stocked kitchen. Even the average kitchen had all sorts of ordinary things you could turn into something nasty. And I was betting that the kitchen in this joint would be well stocked. I found what I was looking for just as I started to hear the sounds of people returning to the building from the chapel.

The stove was gas. My favorite kind, I thought as I turned one of the pilot lights on high. I shrugged as I considered the lonely blue flame and turned them all on. Then I turned on the hood exhaust fan and the ceiling fan before finding a huge bag of flour in the third cabinet I looked in. Because what kitchen doesn't have flour? Even Bobby has flour. I stood by the back door, because once this got started, I wasn't going to have much time to get the hell out of the way. I took a steadying breath and began tossing the flour into the air as quickly as I could. The fan would keep the dust circulating, and the exhaust fan would suck it right over the stove.

The explosion was loud, and I could feel the heat of it at my back as I ran for the tree line fifty yards away. I turned back and stared at the fire for a few seconds more then I should have before turning away with a shiver and ignoring the screaming I heard in my head just as the fire alarm kicked in.

"Hey, you!"

I only spared a glance behind me to make sure that there were no guns yet and then I took the remaining ten yards to the tree line at a dead run. Or as close to one as I could manage. The robe and backpack strapped on the wrong way were slowing me down, but I ignored them until I hit the cover of the trees, then I pulled the robe up around my neck before yanking it over my head and letting it fall. I let the backpack slide down my arms, catching it with one hand and swinging it around my back. By the time I had it on right, I could hear people crashing around behind me. Fucking clumsy amateurs.

I could run flat out now, and I did, pulling away from the idiots pursuing me, probably still in their robes. There was only about a mile between the tree cover and the access road that Dad and Bobby were waiting for me on. I could run five times that distance without slowing down. Halfway through the mile, I couldn't hear anyone behind me at all. I concentrated on my breathing and hoped that I didn't step in some sort of gopher hole or something… cause a twisted ankle would really suck out loud right now. I finally crashed out of the tree cover and on to the road. I slowed down just enough to correct my course and head directly for the van Bobby'd driven out here. Dad already had the door open, waiting for me, huge grin on his face.

I heard him yell Bobby's name and the van started. The seats in the back of the van had been removed and I just jumped in the back without slowing much and Dad followed me, slamming the door behind him. He pounded on the side panel of the van with the side of his fist twice and we were off. And even though I knew I shouldn't yet, I took a deep breath.

"You injured?"

"Nope."

"You find anything?"

I couldn't help the grin, even though I was still a little out of breath. "Yep."

"That's my boy. What the hell are ya waitin' for kid? Crack open the m&m's for a little post op celebration." He frowned as something out the window caught his eye. "What the fuck?"

I twisted around and looked out the window just above my head. Smoke. Oh, that. "Little party favor."

"You got caught?"

"No," I said incredulously. "More like they were expecting me."

He tilted his head a little and he seemed to lose a little coloring. "It was a trap?"

"Yeah… NotSam's big brother was waiting for me." I tried to sound more okay with it then I felt. Sense memory was an evil whore, especially when your senses kept insisting on remembering things that never actually happened.

"NotSam…" Dad looked perplexed for a second before he got it. I could practically see the light bulb go on in his head. "Oh. Demons have siblings? He didn't… are you sure you're okay."

"Dad… I'm cool. NotSam was a girl. I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse. Kinda freaky though. That demons have genders."

Dad just sat silently watching me. I knew he was waiting me out. Usually worked too. Usually ended up spillin' my damn guts like a teenage girl at a slumber party. Not even Sam's puppy dog eyes worked like Dad's patient stare. I heeved a sigh. "Dude, got any beer to go with the m&m's," I asked as I dug them out of the bag. My hand brushed against the damn book and I tossed the whole damn thing across the van out of pure reflex. Damn, that was worse than the first time. My heart hammering in my chest had nothin' to do with the mile I'd just run. The book skidded out and lay on the floor of the van, mocking me.

Dad crawled over to it, looking at the cover. "It's a Sabbath Goat."

"Dave said that was Azazel."

Dad squinted at me. "Who the hell's Dave?"

"The monk who was supposed to show me the ropes. There was a painting of it. Didn't look like that, though," I pointed at the cover of the book that looked like the tarot card image of the devil. The painting hadn't been posing like that, had been busy stripping the flesh off a screaming person. Not to mention that I was a little too busy being creeped out to make the connection at the time.

"_Azazel_ is the Sabbath Goat?" Dad looked like he usually did when he was trying to make sense of something. He reached out a tentative hand to touch the book.

"Dad! No!" He pulled back his hand to stare at me. "Thing fucks with your head. We gotta figure some way of finding out what's in it without it, you know, workin' it's mojo on us."

He nodded, taking my word for it and turned back to look at it. "Lux Lucis Gero Oraculum"

"The Light Bearer Prophesy?"

Dad looked at me proudly and nodded. And yeah, it made me all gooey when my father looked at me like that. But I'm _never_ admitting that out loud. "Light Bearer. Lucifer."

"Dave said that Azazel was one of the first demons and Lucifer's favorite. That serving Azazel was serving Lucifer and the time was drawing near. I think… I think whatever they want Sammy for has to do with Lucifer."

"You're sayin' Lucifer's real?"

"Hell if I know. But _they_ believe he is. I don't know, Dad. Don't much like the thought of it, but maybe he's real."

"You know what that means? If Lucifer exists, then God probably does too. A God who left us with the shit end of the stick. Not sure I find that comfortin', son." I didn't respond because I wasn't sure I found that comforting either. Actually I was pretty sure that the idea pissed me off. "What happened when you touched the book?"

I looked away. That wasn't a question that I wanted to answer in front of anyone, not even Bobby. "Nothin'."

"Hey, Bobby?" Dad was putting the book back into the backpack, careful to not actually touch it.

"Yeah?"

"Can you pull over for a few minutes once it's safe?"

Bobby gave him a sour look in the rearview mirror. For a second I thought he was going to make some crack about not being our damn chauffer. "Sure."

Great. Dad was going to initiate another sharing caring moment. The worst part about it was that I was actually looking forward to getting it off my chest. He picked up the bag of m&m's and opened the cooler secured to the floor against the side of the van to pull out to bottles of beer. He handed me one and we share m&m's and drank beer sitting side by side.

* * *

Twenty minutes later when Bobby pulled over and got out to give us some privacy, we'd finished the m&m's and beer.

"Okay."

I could have stalled him, but this wasn't just about me. This was about a job, about _Sammy_. So I wasn't really just being a big ass baby, crying on my father's shoulder. "I saw them burning."

"Who?"

"The men I killed. Saw it like I was standing right there. Smelled it. Heard it." I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around my legs, crumpling the empty m&m bag in my hand. "I can't… I can't believe I did that. I…" I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. "I thought I was doing the right thing. But now I just… I killed people, Dad. Not monsters… _people_."

"That what your nightmares are about?"

I shrugged. "Mostly. I'm a murderer Dad. My whole life I wanted to be like you, tried hard to be somebody you could be proud of."

"You're not like me son. You're better than me. I was going to kill them. Don't think I would have regretted later. The way we live? Our consciences are the only things that keep us on the right side. We lose that and we got nothin'. Yours is stronger than mine. That's a good thing, Dean."

I stared at him. I didn't really believe that I was better than Dad. It was useless arguing with Dad, though. When he got something into his head like that it was impossible to change his mind. Dad and Sammy were stubborn bastards like that. "I wish I hadn't done it, Dad."

"I know."

"It was wrong."

"It was human. You did somethin' you regret and now there are repercussions that you have to learn to live with."

"If some jerkoff you didn't know had done what I did, you'd say it was wrong."

He shrugged and smiled at me. "I reserve the right to be a raging hypocrite when it comes to my kid." He turned serious again, "And you've done so much more good then the average jerkoff. Don't lose sight of that. You were trying to make it right. What they did to you, what they did to that town. All of it."

"I just made it worse."

"I don't think the people those bastards terrorized would agree with you. We'll get through this, Dean."

I snorted. "Yeah. You say that now. Just wait 'till the next time I wake you up 'cause I'm crawlin' into your bed and sobbin' like a little girl."

Dad shrugged. "You've taken a lot of hits over the past year and a half, kid. Any one of 'em woulda destroyed a lesser man. A few nights when you can't take the weight of it on your own doesn't make you anything less than the toughest son of a bitch I know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Sammy and I were sitting in Bobby's study, Dad and Bobby were standing side by side staring at the damn book like it was going to suddenly get up and tell them the secrets of the universe. Or maybe just the secret to kill Azazel. I was fine with being ignored right now. All I really wanted to do was get as far away from the damn thing as I could. And Sam looked like he'd over done it while I was gone. Damn stupid kid probably paced the entire time.

"Did you eat," I asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"You look pale." Sam glared at me. Glared! "_What_? You do. Fine! Pass out. See if I care." And of course I'd care… Sam was just so freaking annoying sometimes. Like me giving a damn was such a huge burden.

He huffed and looked away. I decided to leave him alone with his tantrum.

Bobby finally pulled his cap up and reseated it on his head, a sure sign that he was about to start talking. "Well, I'll say this for him, John. You're boy managed to find the most dangerous book in the world."

"That so? Damn thing sure feels like a shit load of evil."

"Should. Bound with the flesh of newborns and written with the blood of innocents if the legends can be believed. It's evil's answer to the Holy Grail. Most people thought it was just a myth."

"So… if we can't touch it, how the hell do we go about readin' it?"

"That's a good question since it's been known to drive people who read it insane."

Dad gave Bobby a sidelong glance. "I can't accept that, Bobby. If Sam's in this fucking prophesy, I need to know what it is."

"Cool your heels, John. I didn't say we couldn't read it. Just said I don't know how we're gonna do it yet."

Dad huffed out a breath. "Dean's right. This is the answer. We've got to figure it out Bobby."

* * *

I waved a hand over the corpse with a sigh and it went up in flames. I smiled at the blonde that came into the room. "That was junior. He got sent back to his everlasting reward."

She cocked her head. "Does that mean the plan failed?"

"Yes, but I always have a plan b. The Winchesters have the prophesy."

She looked a little surprised by that. "Really?"

"Yes, dumpling. Really."

"The book was plan b?"

I chuckled softly. "Actually the book was plan a. Junior was plan b. Poor kid. Not his fault he's a total fuck up who never measured up to Meg." I shrugged a little. "I blame his mother. But what am I gonna do? He's my kid."

The blonde bite her lip and looked a little tentative. "Are you sure that it's not too dangerous for them to have to book? If they figure it out…"

"Before it destroys them? Nope. They'll rip each other to shreds long before they ever figure out how to read the book without scratching out their own eyes. By the time they're through, they won't be able to look each other in the eye again. Just imagine the damage John and Sam will do to poor, traumatized Dean. Maybe we'll even get a deal out of it. God knows that John and Sam don't need much provocation to tear into each other. Maybe this book is just the push they need for one to shot the other. Oh, the wonderful guilt that'll cause. The angst! I can see it all now. The tearful scene at the crossroads, the selfless act of sacrifice. One of God's good little soldiers bravely marching off to eternal damnation for his kin. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside."

"Doesn't matter which one?"

I held up a finger. "As long as it's not Sammy… 'cause we still need him. No, it's gotta be John or Dean. Can't make up my mind which I'd rather have enjoying Alastair's hospitality. John's been a pain in my ass for far too long. Couldn't be like the other daddies and take it out on the kid, or pretend nothing ever happened. No Johnny just had to fight. Getting him on a rack would be so satisfying. But getting Dean on a rack? That boy's so broken it wouldn't take long to finish the job. And all the while, John would know where he was. Then he can watch while his other son ends the world." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. John's pain is gonna be wonderful to watch.

"So you just let him go?"

"Nah. He's not special like Sam, or a demented pitbull like his old man, but the kid's not a total waste of space. He would have seen right through that. Only junior was expecting him."

"When am I gonna get in the game?"

"Patience, cupcake. Patience. You're a special piece. I've been playing this game for a long, long time and the finish line is finally in sight. You'll get to join the fun when the time's right, and not a moment sooner." No, one day soon Sam would be desperate enough to stop me, to stop Lilith, that he would listen to anyone who gave him a way out. Anyone who finally gave him a way to control his own fate. Even a demon.

* * *

_A/N:_

_Thanks __**redgriffin7**__! Dean's pov always gives me the best lines. Hope you like this chapter._

_**Nicole**__, you rock! Loved that story. I would have liked to just see John's reaction to three Dean's. Bet it would have been priceless. And pie & m&m's are the answer to everything, darn it!_

_Thanks __**rog457**__! I think the idea that Dean was stupid came from two places. The first was just lazy writing. Every time something came up that the writers wanted to explain to the audience, they'd have Dean go stupid and not know things that logically he should have known. For instance I can buy him not memorizing the exorcism, but I can't buy him not knowing Latin at all. The second reason is that society values book smart so much that it's often hard to recognize and appreciate other types of intelligences. I do believe that Dean could have been a straight A student if he'd given a crap about school. But he didn't, so he wasn't._

_Meg's brother was such a loser, __**NongPradu**__. I felt it only right that I continue along that vain. Hope you enjoy this chapter._

_I know, __**greendaypumpkin**__. We always say we don't want anything to happen to the hero in a story, but that's not really true is it? Because if nothing happened, it would be a really boring story and nobody would read it. My challenge is to make sure all the problems are unpredictable without seeming contrived._

_LOL, __**moira4eku**__. Dean is definitely a smart ass. No matter how broken he may be, I don't think that'll ever change._

_Here you go, enviousxbeauty. Enjoy!_

_Glad you liked it, __**Arlene**__. It was only supposed to be four chapters. LOL. Hope you continue to enjoy it!_

_-Angie_


	29. Poison

**Poison**

I'd come into the kitchen to get away from that damned book, away from the idea that I was in some sort of ancient demonic prophesy. Let Dad deal with it. He would do it his way regardless of what I thought anyway. I heard Dean follow me, but I didn't turn around. Just kept staring out the little window over Bobby's sink.

"Come on, Sammy. You gotta eat man."

I huffed out a breath. For God's sake, you'd think I was four freaking years old or something. If I wanted to eat, I'd fucking eat. I turned to face him. "Dean, will you leave me the fuck alone?"

"What the fuck's your mental deficit today?"

I blinked at Dean. _My_ mental deficit… what the hell? "I'm not the one Dad just sent off on some fucking wild goose chase for a _book_."

"It wasn't a wild goose chase! That book is the answer-"

"God Dean you're such a fucking _idiot_." I sucked in a breath, shocked that I'd actually said it out loud. But you know what? It needed to be said and saying if felt good.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm so sick of you and Dad telling me what to do all the time, always insisting you're right! He's a control freak and you're just his good little soldier. Have you ever had an original idea, Dean? Something that didn't come directly from Dad?"

"Well why don't you just leave, Sam? It's what you do best anyway. Things get too tough to deal with, you just take off. Isn't that the Sam Winchester way?"

"At least I have the guts to leave! You're practically physically attached to Dad's hip!"

Dean dropped his eyes a little and blushed, but when he spoke his words were tense and angry. "The man kept us alive, you ungrateful, selfish little bastard!"

"You're twenty nine years old and you can't sleep unless in the same damn room with him!"

"Samuel!" Dad's voice made me jump. It had been years since he'd used my full name and it had never been a good thing. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me? Of course you'd take Dean's side. You always do."

"That's not true! You're takin' some pretty damn low shots at your brother and I wanna know why."

"Because he's a weak, pathetic, annoying idiot. That enough of a fucking reason for you?"

Dad's eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw twitched. "You need to put a lid on that attitude boy and show your brother some god damned respect."

"You're talkin' to the wrong son if you expect me to go all weak in the knees when you call me boy. I'm not a boy, Dad. I'm a grown man."

"That so? Well, maybe it would be helpful if you'd act like it once in a while and not some spoiled, snot nosed little brat."

I snorted. "Yeah, you would think I'm being a brat just because I stopped askin' how high every time you order me to jump."

"That's not the reason you're immature. You're an overgrown child because you still refuse to see anything beyond whatever the fuck it is you want at any given moment. You're pissed off and feelin' left out, you just take it all out on your brother. Doesn't matter what it actually does to him."

"That's not true and you know it!"

"Isn't it, 'Sammy'?" He packed as much condescension as he could into that stupid nickname he and Dean insisted on using no matter what I said. And that was a hell of a lot of condescension.

"It's _Sam_, and you've got some nerve calling _me_ selfish! You were worse than most of the things we hunted! The way you treated us growing up… the bullying and the ordering. Dean can't even deal with a major crisis without you holding his hand, you've got him so completely fucking dependant on you. That make you feel good? Make you feel _needed_, Dad? Mom would hate you for what you did to him." It was a low blow and I knew, but _damn_ if felt good to deliver it.

Dad sucked in a breath as the jab found its mark, but Dean spoke up before he could. "You know what, Sam? I'm so sick of your superior, holier-than-thou attitude! You've been lookin' down your nose at me since you hit puberty! I'm not _smart_ enough or _independent_ enough… I'm just not _enough_. Never have been. Not for anybody."

"Son…"

"No, Dad. You're just as bad if not worse than Sam! Do you know… do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to be your son? To always have to get it right, to always be _on_ and in control? To always have the stakes so fucking high? God, Dad, I spent my entire god damned life tryin' to live up to you! And the entire time I've just been failing. I'm just so… so fuckin' tired of always fallin' short."

"Who the fuck said you ever had to measure up? Or that you ever fell short?"

"Seriously, Dad? _Seriously_? It was obvious from the beginning that me screwing up could get Sammy or you killed. Yeah. No fucking pressure there!"

"I suppose you think there was no pressure on me! 'S not like I had two small helpless children depending on me to figure out a way to make sure they stayed alive and safe every fucking _second_ of every fucking _minute_ of every fucking _hour_ of every _god damned day_ or anything!"

"I wasn't a kid," Dean hissed. "I stopped being a kid the minute Mom died."

"And my entire life died with her. Every motherfucking thing I wanted and believed and dreamed… all those things I managed to hold onto through the hell of Vietnam. All of it. _Gone_."

"You were in pain. I get it. Really I do. But I was a four year old boy who wasn't allowed to be a kid anymore 'cause Sammy had to be kept safe!"

Dad gave Dean a strange appraising look. "You _judgin'_ me son?"

"Not judgin' you. Just telling you the fucking truth for once." I wanted to do a fucking touchdown dance. Finally, _finally_, Dean was speaking up.

"Oh. I see. So all this time you've agreed with Sam? Just never had the balls to say so, that it?" Dad snorted derisively. "And all this time I thought you were the brave one."

Dean looked like he'd been sucker punched and I couldn't keep quiet. Dad was such a bastard! "That's not fair! You are such a fucking bully, Dad! You've bullied him all his life! Just like you bully everyone else!"

Dad ignored me in favor of taunting Dean. "When'd you grow a pair son? It certainly wasn't a couple nights ago when you were whimpering in your sleep like a little bitch. This must be a recent development."

Dean sucked in a breath and nearly collapsed back against the kitchen counter.

I stepped forward and pushed Dad, just a small shove to get his attention away from Dean. "Leave him alone!"

Dad turned to look at me and the tears in his eyes made my stomach lurch painfully. What the fuck were we doing? He grabbed my collar in his right hand and shook me a little. I was a little taller and a lot younger, but Dad was still big and damn strong. "Why Sammy? You the only one allowed to pick on your brother? He your private punching bag or somethin'? Sammy's personal chew toy?"

I opened my mouth to speak when suddenly there was a shot and a dart appeared on the side of Dad's neck. Dean was already in motion by the time I processed what had happened, charging Bobby who was standing in the doorway with one of Gordon's tranq guns. Bobby got Dean just as Dad was falling, pulling at my shirt like it was a lifeline. I grabbed his arm and lowered him gently to make sure his head didn't hit the ground. I'd just wanted to beat his brains out a few seconds ago. What the hell was going on? Dean stumbled about a foot away from Bobby, but his momentum still slammed him into the older man. Bobby staggered under Dean's weight as he collapsed and made sure his head didn't hit the floor when he fell.

I looked at Bobby, dumbfounded. "What the fuck was all that… why…?"

"It was that damn book, Sam. Had to be. Only thing I can figure is that one of the wards I have tattooed on my hide is protecting me. I put the damn thing in a warded box for cursed objects before comin' out here, but I didn't want to wait for the effects to wear off on their own. Gonna be hard enough to deal with what's already been said."

I nodded, swallowing hard as I recalled some of the things that came out of my own mouth. Things I'd thought about at low points. Old resentments and fears. Oh, God. I collapsed onto the ground next to Dad. "I can't… Jesus!" I pressed my fingers into my eyes. A sob escaped my throat, sounding strangled and strained, but I swallowed down the rest.

I felt something cool against my hand and looked up to see Bobby holding out a shot glass. I took it gratefully and drank the contents of the glass in a single swallow, feeling it burn its way down my throat into my stomach. "Why did I stop?"

Bobby shrugged as he emptied his own glass and began refilling it. I noticed he was pointedly ignoring my now empty glass. "Best I can figure is the book wasn't feedin' your insecurities and resentment anymore so the shock was enough to snap you out of it."

"Why didn't it snap Dean out of it?"

"It did. As far as he was concerned, I shot John. Don't think he saw the dart, just heard the shot, saw him stagger. If I hadn't tranqed Dean too, he probably would have broken my damn neck before he figured it out."

* * *

I sat in the living room waiting for Dean and Dad to wake up, trying to figure out a way to take back everything I'd said. Dean was laying his back on the couch his face turned toward the cushions. Dad was in the easy chair and I sat on an ottoman between the two. Dad's groan pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Dad?"

"Sammy," he slurred. "I just had the worst dream…" he stopped as he looked at my face. My expression must have told him the truth because his face lost all its coloring. Dad glanced over at Dean like he knew he was there the entire time. "Shit! What… what the hell was that?"

"It was the book." It sounded small, inconsequential, insignificant. It sounded like a fucking excuse. "Bobby took care of it."

"Dean?"

"He'll probably come too any minute now."

"How the hell am I supposed to look him in the eye? Those things I said to him. _Shit_!"

"You and me both…"

"The things I said to you weren't anything to be proud of either. I'm sorry, son."

I looked up at him through my hair, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. "You didn't say anything to me that wasn't true."

"Sam, don't."

"It's Sammy."

"What?"

"It's… it's Sammy." I suddenly felt self conscious. Yeah, some grown man I was. Next thing you know I'd be calling him 'Daddy' and sucking my damn thumb.

Dad snorted and leaned forward to push my hair out of my face. "Sammy," he said finally, his voice soft and warm. "Facts aren't always the truth, son."

"What does that even mean, Dad?"

"Dean? Son, could you sit up and join the conversation?" Dean didn't move, but his breath hitched a little. How the hell does Dad always know when we're faking sleep? "Please?"

Dean pulled himself up slowly and sat on the edge of the couch. "Sir," he said quietly, his voice deep and gravely with emotions he'd probably rather die than admit to. He didn't even look at us. I felt the guilt eat away at me as I remembered everything I'd said to him. It all kept mixing up with the other things I, the demon, had said to him months ago.

"Son, I need you to look at me. You can always tell when I'm bullshitting. I need you to look at me for this."

Something flashed across Dean's face before it went completely blank. When he finally looked up at Dad, his face was frozen in a mask of nothingness, his eyes empty.

"Maybe we all spewed some unflattering facts about each other in the kitchen earlier. But those things weren't the _truth_. They were all too mangled and poisoned by lies and malice that none of us feel. We all know how to push each other's buttons. If there's somethin' around that makes us _want_ to then we know all the weak spots to hit.

"It's like that old war strategy. Poisoning the well. The water's _real_. It's still fundamentally _water_, but its nature is perverted. That's what that book did. It… took all our frustrations and all our pain and perverted it and made it into weapons for us to use against each other."

Dean's mask cracked and a breath that was not quit a sob escaped his chest. Then he was up and out of the room. The screen door was slamming before I realized that he was leaving the house all together. I started to get up when I felt a strong grip on my arm.

"Let him go, Sam. Give him a few minutes to pull himself together."

"But what if…"

"He's not going to hurt himself. He needs some time."

I sat down heavily. Maybe Dad was right. All I knew was that I didn't know anything anymore. "What do we do now?"

Dad sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "The only thing we can do, Sammy. We go on. We figure out what the hell's in that book for it to have so many protections, and we stop whatever Azazel's planning."

I snorted out a little laugh. Say what you will about him, but Dad didn't waste a lot of time sitting around brooding. "That all?"

He smirked at me. "Hell yeah."

* * *

_A/N: I haven't had internet for over a week! I'm actually almost done with the next chapter and may have it up tomorrow. I'm in the middle of moving so it may take a day or two longer to actually get it up. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!_

_Thanks __**enviousxbeauty**__!_

_Thank you __**deangirl1**__!_

_I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, __**rog457**__._

_Here you go, __**greendaypumpkin**__! I hope it was worth the wait. Thanks!_

_Dean's felt guilty from the beginning, __**moira4eku**__. There's just so much on his plate he can't deal with it all at once._

_You have no faith in me __**redgriffin7**__. But then, you probably shouldn't ;). Hendrickson? Hmmmm… no comment._

_-Angie_


	30. Pie

**Pie**

I leaned against the wall next to the closed door in Bobby's study. "Thanks Bobby. You just keep savin' our asses."

He shrugged his shoulders as he looked up at me over the tops of his glasses, neck deep in research. "Somebody's gotta, thankless job that it is."

"How the hell do I fix this? The things that I said… god, I want to rip out my own damn tongue." I rubbed my face with my hands before letting them drop to my sides. I could hear Sammy in the kitchen. He'd gone out to try to talk to Dean a few minutes ago and came back silent and sullen. Not a good combination for Sam and it meant that Dean had shut him down and sent him back in the house with his tail between his legs.

Bobby sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Hell if I know, John. Demons… bastards can mess ya up like nobody's business. But I ain't ever seen the kind of effort they're puttin' behind tearin' you Winchester boys apart."

"I gotta find a way to stop them Bobby. I can't let them destroy my boys… I… you should have seen how Dean looked at me. He trusted me completely and it's like I just …"

"John, you don't believe any of those things you said about Dean in there, right?"

"God no!"

"Then it wasn't your fault."

"It doesn't matter, and you know it. It came out of my mouth. It reinforces all the things he already thinks about himself. How the hell is he ever gonna get past that to trust me again."

Bobby shrugged. "Cause he's Dean. Trustin' you is kinda what he does."

I wasn't quite sure if that made me feel any better. "I'd better suck it the hell up and go talk to him before he breaks somethin'. Especially himself. When's Missouri comin' back?"

"Coupla days after Thanksgiving."

I snorted as I opened the door to Bobby's study to go in search of my oldest. "She's gonna have her work cut out for her when she gets back. 'S what she gets for thinking we could go a week without her."

"I know. Shame how she thinks she still has a personal life."

"You're just glad to get your kitchen back for a few days," I fired back as I walked out.

* * *

I found Dean in the garage under the hood of a '74 Thunderbird. The car had potential, even thought the shine had long since worn off the paint job. I felt a lot like that car. Past my prime, worn out and tired. I could see tension in every line of Dean's body as he worked. How the hell was I ever going to make this right?

"Dean? Got a minute for your old man?" He stopped moving, swear he stopped breathing. "You alright?" And yeah. That was probably the stupidest question I've ever asked.

"'M fine."

"That's a neat trick, 'cause I feel like I've been gutted with a dull knife. I said some pretty low things to you, Dean. Especially that last part."

"You mean about me whimpering like a little bitch?" I winced at the words, at how flat his voice was as he repeated them. Dean had shut me out and I was afraid of what it would take to get back in. "'S true."

"No. It's not."

"Yeah, it is. I've been weak and pathetic and 'm fuckin' sick of myself."

I snorted. "The part you seem to be holdin' on to here is the part that made the whole thing a lie."

"A lie, Dad?" Dean looked at me over his shoulder. "You tryin' to say you've never thought I was pathetic?"

"That's exactly what I'm sayin'!"

"Not what you said earlier," he said as he turned back to what the hell ever he was doing under the hood of that car. I swallowed down the urge to tell him to stop tinkering with the damn thing and look at me when I was talking to him.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"The water's still water, right?"

I hung my head. Damn kid listened to everything I ever said. It was a curse almost as much as it was a blessing. "The only true thing in that statement is that you make noises in your sleep. Everything else was complete bullshit."

"You sure it wasn't fact?"

I shook my head, feeling ashamed of myself. I knew that it was the book, but that still didn't make it better. I couldn't imagine feeling worse if I'd said those things on purpose. "I never thought you were a coward, son."

He leaned against the grille, sagging a little. "I meant what I said. Not all of it… I don't think the way we grew up was your fault. Azazel killed Mom, he was after Sammy. It wasn't your fault the stakes were always so high. And… I don't think you're a selfish bastard."

Hearing those words again, even when Dean was only saying them in an effort to take them back, hurt almost as much as remembering what I'd said to him. Because I was the father, damn it. And I'd protected my children from Azazel, or at least I'd sheltered them from the fate of the other kids Azazel had gone after, but at what price? Was there a way to do it without sacrificing Dean's childhood and Sam's happiness? I shrugged. "'Cept when I am."

Dean snorted and reached up a hand to rub at his eyebrow. That's when I saw that there was blood along with the motor oil on them. I crossed the few feet of distance between us. "What the hell did you do to your hands?"

"'S an accident," he said a little defensively as I turned him around with a hand on his shoulder and reached for his hands.

"Let me see." He tried to bat my hands away. "Dean!"

He stopped fighting me immediately and let me lift his hands up for inspection, one in each hand. The damage wasn't as bad as it looked but it was bad enough. Looked like he'd gone a couple rounds with one of the wrecks out in the yard. What the fuck was it with this kid and damaging his hands anyway? If he couldn't hold a gun or a knife properly, he'd be vulnerable. I sighed.

"I'll take the couch tonight."

I used my inspection of his cuts and bruises as a cover to figure out the best approach. I decided to keep it light. Maybe a little teasing. Dean always responded to that better than Sammy because it usually defused his frustration. With Sam, it always made things worse. Just about everything made things worse when Sammy was in a mood. That kid was damn near undeterrable when he decided to be a bitch. "The hell you will."

"You can't tell me where to sleep."

"Yes I can. 'Cause you'll let me. Make us both feel better. Hell, we outta invite Sammy. Make it a slumber party. Roast marshmallows. Have a pillow fight."

"Are we gonna braid each other's hair too?"

"Sure, if you want. Maybe Bobby even has some ribbons somewhere."

Dean let out a shaky breath that was right on the border of being a laugh. "You can't do this. You can't just make it all disappear."

I stopped inspecting the damage to his hands and rubbed the backs with my thumbs before letting them go. "I'm your father. I have to. You're not gettin' rid of me and you're not going to suffer in silence because some damn book fucked with our heads or punish yourself because you believe a fucking lie. I can do a lot of things, a lot of really horrible things, but I'm afraid that's not one of 'em Dean-o."

He started shaking, like he had at the warehouse were I'd learned Yellow Eyes' name and I wrapped my arms around him. "Do you know," I whispered in his ear, "how many times you held me together? How many times when I thought I couldn't hold on another day and you somehow pulled me right back up? Just on pure instinct? So many nights I'd cry myself to sleep and wake up sweatin' from a fire that had long since burned out so rattled that I threw up more often than not. You'd crawl into my bed and just lay there with me, solid and so fuckin' steady for such a little boy. It's my turn to be strong and steady for you. If needing that from me makes you a gutless bitch, then I'm the biggest one in the fucking universe 'cause I needed it from a four year old kid."

His hands twisted in my shirt as he finally let himself hold on. "Dad…"

"I know, son. Come inside. Let me clean and bandage those hands for you."

* * *

I walked into Bobby's kitchen around to find him standing at the counter, his hand deep inside a large defeathered bird. I silently watched Bobby shove stuffing into the turkey and _humming_ as I nursed my beer. There were just so many ways I could take this. It was kinda hard to decide. "What are you doin'?"

"Stuffin' a turkey," he replied in that tone that clearly called me an idiot, whether the words ever actually came out of his mouth or not. Or as Bobby, the fucking genius of a hillbilly would say, a 'fuckin' ijit.'

"I can see that. What the hell for?"

"It's Thanksgiving, ya ijit." And there it was. Minus the expletive.

I rolled my eyes because I _knew_ it was Thanksgiving, but Bobby had always been as big on holidays as I was. Which was to say a very dedicated non-celebrant. "Oh. Well, aren't you just the happy little homemaker?"

"Jackass. You'll be lucky if I don't make ya eat out on the porch with Rummy."

I snorted and finished off the last of my beer before setting it down on the counter. Well, if we were going to do this, we might as well do it right. Besides, it might be good for us. Something had to break the huge iceberg that had settled between me and my oldest. "You keep up that attitude and you'll never find someone to make an honest woman out of you. I'll be back."

"Where ya goin'?"

"Errand. I'll be back for dinner."

"That's helpful. Fuckin' walkin' cipher."

* * *

The supermarket was, thankfully, open until three pm. And the bakery was open. I had several cans of whipped cream – because a pie without the whipped cream was like a cake without icing. At least I thought so. Dean would take his pie anyway he could get it. The woman behind the counter looked harried and a little disheveled, but she seemed like a sweat kid. The kind of poor girl Dean would have tried to talk into bending over in the back room a lifetime ago. Pretty, perky and curvy.

"I'll have the peach, the French apple and… the chocolate silk." I smiled as I remember the first time Dean tried chocolate silk pie. I'd had an irrational moment when I thought the boy's eyes were going to get stuck rolled up in his head. All that really mattered was that it was chocolate, which I swear Dean thinks is a major food group, and pie. Things had still been a little tense between us since the whole thing with the book a few days before. Broken bones healed faster than wounds from cruel words. I just wanted to see Dean have a few moments of bliss, even if it was over pie.

"You want three whole pies? You must have a big family."

I snorted. "Nope. Just one son with a powerful yin for pie, another who just likes to watch him be happy and a good friend who likes seein' both smile almost as much as I do. So it's a win win."

I'd just climbed into my truck with my newly purchased pies when my phone rang. I answered it without looking to be greeted by Ellen's voice. "John. How're the boys?"

"They're good. Better anyway. How's Jo?"

I heard huff of air over the phone, imagined her sad half smile. "She's getting' better. Bit by bit. She had a little setback last week."

I almost laughed. All my boy ever seemed to have were setbacks."It'll take time."

There was silence on the other end and I could almost hear the question she wanted to ask, but thankfully she thought better of it. "You still at Bobby's?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I got a hunter went missin' out that way. Was wonderin' if you boys wouldn't mind checking out the last place he told me he was pokin' around."

"Okay. I'm out on a pie run. I still got a few hours before I need to be back for dinner. I'll go take a quick look, see what we're dealin' with."

"Maybe you should take Dean or Bobby with you."

I started the ignition and began backing out, holding my phone in place with a raised shoulder. "Nah. I'll just do recon. If it's serious, we'll go back pre-dawn after they've slept off the tryptophan."

"The what?"

"You know… the shit in turkey that makes you sleepy."

"Whatever, John." She sounded vaguely amused like she always did whenever I pulled out one of my thousand useless facts. "Just watch your ass. Not everything's only dangerous at night."

I snorted. Like I didn't already know that. "Yes mother."

She laughed. "Jackass."

I found myself wishing I could see her eyes sparkling they way they always did when she laughed. I couldn't help the slow smile that stretched my lips. "I get that a lot."

I could almost hear her roll her eyes. Only Sammy could give a more eloquent eye roll, though Dean could occasionally give them both a run for their money. "I'm serious John! Be careful! And call me within two hours. After you're on your way back to Bobby's."

I laughed softly. You'd think I'd never hunted on my own before. But Ellen was one of those women that it never paid to argue with. "Okay. Two hours."

* * *

I surveyed the charred ruins of what had once been a beautiful monastery. I had to say this for Dean… he definitely had a talent for destruction. Cute little trick with the flour. Few people knew that it was combustible, and fewer people ever actually used it to turn a room into a bomb. Once the kitchen went, the gas lines followed and then the rest of the place went up like kindling. I found myself hoping that when the time came it was Dean's soul we took. I'd never paid much attention to him before but the kid was starting to interest me.

"It's not my fault-"

I held up my hand to silence the idiot next to me. I'd suspected that the Winchesters would try this, but that didn't excuse gross incompetence. I turned to look at him, my eyes blazing. "Then whose fault is it?"

"I… it… they were good, master."

I sighed as I looked at the ruined building, still smoldering. It was kind of ironic when you really thought of it. My monastery being destroyed by fire. "Yes, that's true. But it still disappoints me that you're not willing to accept responsibility for your own mistakes."

"Mercy, master."

"Mercy?" I looked at him again and wrapped a tendril of power tightly around his neck. I turned back to the building, dismissing the man next to me that was now clawing at his own neck, trying futilely to draw another breath. Good help was so damn hard to find. "I'm afraid you're playing for the wrong team if you expect anything like mercy, Dave."

* * *

_A/N: Just in case anyone is confused, the POV was switched to Azazel at the end. Just wanted to make sure that you were all paying attention…_

_Thanks enviousxbeauty! It was hard to write. Dean and Sam, or John and Sam arguing is so much easier… but John being that nasty to Dean was just… well it hurt. John isn't above being snippy and bitchy on occasion, or a complete asshole to people he doesn't like, but I've never seen him just be outright mean for the hell of it._

_I'm glad you liked it doesthatmakemepokey. I hope you continue to enjoy it!_

_Hope you like this update, babyreaper._

_Thanks Yammy1983!_

_It was pretty harsh, greendaypumpkin. But I always hug Dean afterwards. And sometimes Sam and John, depending on how badly I hurt them too. This time I had to hug Bobby too… just cause. Hope you like this update._

_Yeah, redgriffin7, I wanted everyone to sort of wonder what the hell was going on at first. So have I restored your faith in me yet?_

_I know rog457. For someone who loves Dean to the point that I almost always take his side in a disagreement with Sam – okay, always take his side – I sure like to hurt the poor guy a lot. But I'll fix him. Eventually._

_That was a hard write, moira4eku. Yes, it was a lot like the Siren episode. The only difference is I think they meant a lot more of what they said in that ep than they did in the last chapter._

_-Angie_


	31. Wish

**Wish**

Sam walked into the living room looking like a choir boy. "Dude!"

"What," he said defensively. Yeah, like he really didn't know what.

"Did you… did you put _gel_ in your hair?"

"I just brushed it, Dean."

"You look all spit-shined."

"It's a holiday!"

"I know that Francis. But you don't have to get all gussied up. It's just us."

I could almost hear the 'jerk' he wanted to snipe back at me, but he didn't. He was still trying to make up for what happened with that fucking book. We all were. I shook my head. "Come on, princess. Let's see what Bobby's whipped up this time." I run my fingers through his hair as he passed, messing it up, and earned and indignant squawk.

* * *

"Where'd you say Dad went again," I asked as I frowned at my silent phone sitting on the kitchen counter. The food smelled good, and I had passed hungry by the side of the road about half an hour ago, but I was starting to really worry about Dad.

I could feel Bobby's annoyance. "On one of his fool errands."

"Huh. And did he say where?"

"Does he ever?"

I shrugged. That was a little unfair. "Sometimes. But he always answers his phone these days. Or at least calls back within an hour." And that was true. He had a second phone now, and only Sam, Bobby and I knew the number that he only turned off when he was on a hunt. He even kept it on when he was asleep.

"Yeah, well all I know is that the quickest way to ruin dinner is to invite a Winchester."

Bobby's red phone – which was literally red and mounted to the wall in his kitchen next to all his other phones – rang, saving me from needing to reply.

"Dude, Dad always finds a way to skip on holidays. Even when he's actually around and has nothing better to do."

"That's not true, Sam. He missed a lot of them, but he was around for most. You just always choose to remember the bad things."

"And you always choose to ignore them."

"I don't ignore them. I remember the bad shit too. But what fucking use is it to get all twisted up over everything that went wrong?"

Bobby walked into the room looking a little pale. He stood there, staring at nothing and adjusting his cap. He was worried and that was never a good sign. "That was Ellen. You're Daddy went to check out the disappearance of a hunter. Missed his check in an hour ago, and hasn't picked up."

"He went alone?" Sam looked as freaked out as I felt.

"And she's just _now_callin'?" Why the hell would she wait an hour? Why didn't she call right away?

"She said he just went to do recon, that he was supposed to come get one of us if he needed backup."

I snorted. "Not if someone else was in danger. She has met Dad, right? I'll get my coat. We're takin' the Impala."

"Yeah. She's faster than anything I got."

* * *

Dad's truck was parked outside the warehouse next to a nondescript black station wagon when we rolled up. I checked the back first. Dad was an obsessive son of a bitch and everything had a place in his truck, so I could tell by the empty spots in the bed exactly what he'd taken with him. Just an extra sidearm. No shotgun, no rifle.

"Okay Bobby," I said as I closed the gate, "you ready?"

"Locked and loaded, kid. Your Daddy's a stubborn son of a bitch. He's not checkin' out 'till he gets good and ready."

"Yeah. I hope you're right."

I looked inside the cab and saw a couple of white plastic bags resting in the passenger seat, those generic ones with Thank You printed on them in red outlined letters. I pulled one open and found three can's of Ready Whip – Dad never ate pie without it. The other held three white boxes with clear plastic windows on top. Pie. I made a short, pained sound.

"What is it?"

I shrugged with one shoulder as I closed the door. "Everything can be fixed with pie and m&m's." Bobby was looking at me like he was afraid that I'd shatter into a million pieces right in front of him. He didn't have to worry. I was saving that for after we found my father. I cleared my throat. "Let's go find him." I started moving towards the warehouse without waiting for a reply.

"Not to be a wet blanket, but don'cha think we need to figure out what we're dealin' with first?"

I just threw Bobby an irritated glare and kept going. Cause, yeah, knowing what flavor of evil bastard we were dealing with would be helpful, and usually I was all for figuring out what the fugly of the day was so I'd know exactly how to kill the damn thing… but whatever it was had my dad and I wasn't about to sit around playing twenty questions while it was possibly killing him. Much as I loved Bobby, he could either come with me, or jump off the nearest cliff. I heard him muttering about 'fuckin' ijit Winchesters.'

The inside of the warehouse wasn't a big empty space. There were plenty of hidey holes for something nasty to lurk in. I held my gun in front of me, safety off, with my left arm bent so that I could stabilize my right hand on my left wrist and train the flashlight where I was aiming at the same time. I moved slowly, checking out the area thoroughly with each step, Bobby's presence solid and reassuring at my back. I spared a quick prayer to whoever might happen to be listening that he didn't get killed for being stupid and loyal enough following me in here. Whatever got the drop on Dad had to be good, and I could only hope that there being two of us this time would tip the scales in our favor.

We rounded a corner and entered another clearing. Only this time it wasn't empty. My father was strung up by a chain hung from the ceiling, his wrists taking all his weight, right next to another guy. Both of them had IV's hooked up to them, connected to bags of blood. From the placement, it looked like they were being drained. Now that was just freaky… a creature using modern medical equipment to feed off humans. High tech vampires? Neither Dad or the other guy – obviously the missing hunter –looked like the picture of health, but the other guy looked like he was halfway to the other side already. That must have been why Dad came in here like he did. I glanced at the windows and confirmed that one of them looked like it had been wiped clean, like someone had been peering inside. Dad had seen the poor son of a bitch, recognized that he may only have moments to live and tried to rescue him on his own rather than calling in reinforcements that might be too late.

"I'll be a son of a bitch."

I ignored Bobby's hushed whisper as I moved forward cautiously. My first priority was freeing dad. A flash of blue caught my eye and suddenly I was on the floor.

"Bobby!" A shot rang out the instant after I shouted. The thing went down, but it wasn't dead. I spared it a look as it crouched in the shadows and hissed before scrambling to my feet and starting to free my father. Whatever this thing was, it was large and blue, with freaky tattoos all over its body. As I finally worked the chain free, Dad's head jerked up suddenly with a sharp intake of breath.

"Dean?" He sounded drugged and disoriented.

"It's me. Once I get you free, we gotta run for it. Think you can handle that?" There was another gunshot, and the thing went crashing into a stack of crates.

"Really you?"

I paused and squinted at him. "Yeah, Dad. 'S really me."

"The other guy… we gotta save him. Came back for him…"

"I know, but there's no time," I bit out as I yanked out the IV.

"Dean-"

"Dad… unless you got some way to kill that thing in your back pocket, we gotta get outta here before Bobby runs outta ammo."

His eyes cleared a little, went a little hard and he nodded. I shot out a window and half guided, half pushed him to it before shoving him out unceremoniously and then jumping out myself, careful not to fall on top of him. It was bad enough that I'd just basically thrown my wounded and possibly concussed father out of a window, even if it wasn't that high. There was another gunshot as Bobby followed us. Only he wasn't so careful about not falling on anyone.

"Son of a bitch," I rasped once he rolled off and I could draw breath again.

"Sorry kid." Only he didn't sound particularly sorry.

"I think you fucking broke me."

"It was either you or John. I figured it would be less likely that you'd shot me if I landed on you."

I canted my head a little. That was probably true. "Yeah. No pie for you." I rolled over and began checking Dad over for injuries or broken bones. He let me, silent except for an intake of breath when I ran my fingers over his ribs. I pressed a little but nothing shifted. They were probably only bruised. It weird me out that he wasn't gripping at me for being a mother hen and trying to push me away. "What the hell _was_ that?"

"A djinn," Dad and Bobby answered at the same time.

I paused in the middle of checking Dad's pupils with my flashlight. "A _djinn_? What the hell happened to Barbara Eden?" They both just looked at me. "Oh, come _on_! Not even you two old sticks in the mud can deny that Barbara was hot!"

Dad started laughing. "That's what I love about you, Dean. No matter what you're still you."

I just narrowed my eyes at the old man. He didn't look all that worse for the wear. He was pale from blood loss and had an ugly bruise on the side of his forehead, but his pupils were the right size and reactive. Even though I couldn't find any sign of a concussion, he was acting even more strangely than that time he was high on morphine and kept singing Oklahoma. That was still one of my most treasured memories. But this just might beat it out. If I ever got the point where I could find it funny. "Oka-ay. Dad, do you need a hospital?"

"No, son. Mostly just blood loss. A good meal and a good night's sleep'll cure it."

I shrugged. We had to trust each other to know when we needed more help than any of us could give. "Alright. How the hell do we kill this son of a bitch?"

"A knife dipped in sheep's blood." Bobby answered this time.

"Of course," I said with a roll of my eyes. "Where in the fuck are we supposed to get sheep's blood?"

"The other hunter had mutton in his car," Dad offered. "What time is it? What _day_ is it?"

"It's only about four hours from the time you left Bobby's, give or take."

He let out a breath and looked at the building with a haunted expression. "Fuck." I couldn't tell if that meant if felt like it had been longer or shorter than he thought. "I had a knife with me when I went in. Hell if I know what happened to the damn thing. Lost my grip on it after the bastard threw me."

Twenty minutes later Bobby and I were charging back into the warehouse, blood dipped knives in one hand and guns in the other. I didn't like leaving Dad alone, but even though I probably could have won if I were arguing with just Dad, I couldn't win against both him and Bobby. I was a Winchester too. I'd learned from the best how to be a stubborn jackass and Dad was too weak to put up a good argument. But Bobby wasn't. I stood still in the middle of the opening, my eyes closed. It was an old trick Dad had taught me, feeling my surroundings, waiting for the thing to come to me. It took twenty minutes, but I finally felt it stalking me, circling me. It was so pissed from being used for Bobby's target practice and having its latest meal stolen that it either didn't notice or didn't care that Bobby was hanging back. I stayed still, waited another five minutes for it to charge me before bringing up the knife and letting it impale itself with its own weight. And then I was on the ground underneath it, feeling its blood soak through my shirt. So okay. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let myself be landed on for the second time in less than an hour. Fuck that hurt. Maybe I could borrow some of Dad's Epson salt.

"You okay, boy?"

"Yeah, Bobby. I'm fine. Get this bitch off me."

He snorted and rolled the dead djinn off me. "Go back to your daddy. I'll clean this up and take the other hunter to the hospital. If he's still in the land of the living."

"Yeah. Take the Impala."

"You sure?"

"It's faster than Dad's truck." Besides, I felt guilty for leaving the bastard in here for another thirty minutes even if I wouldn't have done anything differently given the chance.

I limped out, covered with djinn's freaky glowing blue blood. A few minutes later, Bobby came out carrying the other hunter in a fireman's carry. Son of a bitch was obviously too stubborn to die.

I drove Dad's truck back to Bobby's while Bobby took the hunter to the nearest hospital. Dad was sitting silently in the passenger's seat for the first twenty minutes before clearing his throat. "I bought you pie." He pointed to the bags sitting on the bench seat between us.

I snorted. "Yeah. I noticed." I drove in silence for another five minutes. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

He was lying. I could tell he was lying. I pulled the truck over to the side of the road and got out, pacing along the shoulder. I heard the door squeal as he got out too. Damn thing needed oiling.

"Dean?"

I was suddenly in his face, all the fear I'd been feeling for the past few hours spilling out in anger. "Why the hell are you such a stubborn son of a bitch? You could have been killed! Do you know what it felt like to see you hanging there like that? You should have had me or Bobby there with you!"

Dad sagged against the side of the car, looking tired and defeated and smaller than I'd ever seen him look before. My heart lurched in my chest and suddenly I wasn't angry anymore. Suddenly I just felt like crying, or throwing something. Or maybe screaming. What the hell had that thing done to him? "I know. I'm sorry… I swear I just went to take a look. Then I saw that poor son of bitch hanging there on death's doorstep. I knew it was stupid but I just… Bastard snuck up behind me and…" he lifted a hand to the bruise on his temple. "That thing was fast. Faster than anything I'd ever seen."

"It's okay Dad. You're okay."

He snorted. "Yeah." He climbed back into the truck and I knew he was lying again. He wasn't okay. And I'd just yelled at him like he was some snot nosed kid and he took it. Just took it and apologized. Even tried to explain himself. Fuck. _Fuck_!

* * *

I could tell that Sam had used his alone time productively, working himself into a snit ever since I'd called him to fill him in on what happened so he wouldn't stress himself out. Thankfully, he didn't start anything and any attitude he gave Dad was ignored. Eventually, even Sam picked up on the fact that Dad just didn't seem to have any fight in him tonight and kept eying him through dinner, annoyance replaced by worry.

Dad insisted that we have dinner, even if it was over two hours late and no one seemed to be in the mood to celebrate. But somehow we got in the mood. Or we were all just really good at faking it. Either way, we managed to have a pretty decent time even if Dad was acting like a pod person.

"I didn't know you know how to carve a turkey, Dad."

"Lot of things I know how to do that I haven't had occasion for, Sammy."

Dad started telling us stories about his childhood. A few of them we'd heard already, but most we hadn't. Dad never liked to talk about the past. Always said it kept you from taking care of the here and now.

"So you didn't get along with your Dad," Sam asked, leaning forward and looking more than a little like a kid at story time.

"Nope." He looked at Sam and smiled at the irony. "Too much alike. He always told me to just wait 'till I had kids of my own."

Sam snorted. "So I'm what? Payback."

"Apparently. I only hope my father was half as proud of me as I am of you though."

Sam's face crumpled a little and his eyes got wide and shiny. He is _such_ a girl! I swear to god I'm having his DNA tested. "Really?"

Dad snorted. "Want me to put it in writing son?"

Sam pulled himself together and curled his lips into something resembling a smirk. He might be a pretty, pretty princess of a Winchester, but at least he was still a Winchester. "Just remember you said it next time you we have a disagreement."

Dad snorted and asked if we'd saved room for pie. As if it were even possible not to have room for pie. Especially _chocolate _pie. If there was a heaven, then they probably served it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We sat down in front of Bobby's tv and yelled at what was left of the game, until Dad finally fell asleep.

"What's wrong with him, Bobby?" I was in the kitchen, helping Bobby clear away the dishes. Samantha was probably off tattooing 'My Dad's proud of me' on his ass. "What the hell's wrong with Dad?"

He adjusted his baseball cap before sitting at the table. After a few seconds of silence, I finally realized that he wanted me to sit too. I sat across from him and waited. "What do you know about djinns?"

"Unless they got anything right with I Dream of Jeannie, and I'm guessin' they didn't, not a damn thing."

"They live off the blood of their victims. Truss 'em up and put 'em in a dream state while they siphon it off like damn vampires."

"Dream state?"

"Yeah. Whatever they subconsciously wish for the most."

"Mom. Jesus." No wonder Dad was so fucking… _whipped_. I couldn't even imagine having the thing that I most wanted and then just having it ripped away.

"It's like living a whole different reality and the longer you're in it, the more you begin to believe it's reality and your reality was the dream. And I ain't talkin' days. I'm talkin' _minutes_."

"So, what? Dad was living this whole prefect fantasy while he was this son of a bitch's buffet?"

"No. It's not supposed to be perfect. It's just the one wish that comes true. Everything else can go to hell in a hand basket. But you get that one thing."

* * *

I'd been awake for a while when I heard Dad wake up. He tried to keep quiet, but his breathing was hitched. Fuck. Dad was the only one of us that had been anywhere near okay. Only he wasn't anymore. I got up and slipped into bed next to him.

"You were like that there too. Always tryin' to take care of me. Got that from your mother."

"Got it from you too."

"Don't know about that."

"'S true."

"Then I'm no damn good at it."

"Dad, don't…"

"It's okay, son. Go to sleep."

"I know it's hard to come back here… after having Mom back and now…"

Dad let out a huff of air and I'd never heard him sound so defeated. "You're mother was there but… that wasn't…"

That wasn't what? Having Mom back wasn't his wish? Than what the fuck was? As if he heard the question before I could ask it, he sighed.

"I really don't want to get into this, okay? I just can't."

"Yeah. Okay. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"It's alright son. You were scared. And what I did was pretty damn stupid."

* * *

_A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I meant to do it last week, but I've just started a new job and I've been coming home exhausted. I hope that this was worth the wait. Let me know what you all think. I'm so past tired, I'm not even sure if I should have posted it until I slept on and looked it over later..._

_Wow **deangirl1**, John's missing and you're worried about Dean getting his pie. LOL._

_Thanks **Yammey1983**!_

_I'm sorry about losing you **babyreaper**. No, John's not evil. I had to balance out the karma. I did so much bad stuff to Dean, I had to give the poor man something so I won't do anything like that with John._

_LOL **moira4eku**! Everyone's worried about the pies. Yes, John is trying really hard. He never seemed like the kind of man that did anything by half measures, so once he sets his mind to something he goes the distance._

_Glad you liked it **enviousxbeauty**. Hope this chapter was worth the wait._

_Glad you're still enjoying the story, **greendaypumpkin**. You can say that John has had a very bad day indeed…_

_I don't think any of the boys are good at saying 'no', **rog457**. It's an unfortunate side effect of that hero complex they all like to rock._

_I just love exploring the John/Dean dynamic, **redgriffen7**. Probably why I can never leave poor John to rest in peace when I write long stories…_

_Hi **Haylia Jones**! I'm glad you found my story. I hope you're still enjoying it! The fugly bikers were townie enforcers. I grew up in a small town, and we had a biker bar right at the edge of it. Most of the bikers that frequented the bar lived in the town. They were these big scary tattooed guys. Not people you'd feel comfortable meeting in a dark alley. None of them terrorized the town and whenever I spoke to any of them they were polite and soft-spoken. But if some of them had been of a mind to try to take over the town with the help of local law enforcement they could have done it easily. Most of us already gave them a wide birth. So I don't see any conflict in having Dean's attackers be both bikers and 'hired guns' working for the sheriff in his extortion scheme._

_Welcome, **Corrode**! I hope you enjoyed the rest of the chapters too! I want John to be a real guy to my readers. And yes, he is 'beastly.' LOL!_

_-Angie_


	32. Happiness

**Happiness**

"How long?"

"How long what, Bobby?" I was sitting at the kitchen table staring into a cup of black coffee. I didn't really feel like an interrogation and it showed in the irritated growl of my voice.

"How long was it in your dream?"f

"You askin' as a concerned friend or a fuckin' student of the paranormal?" And yeah, I was pushing. I didn't really want to talk to Bobby or anyone else about this. Not right now, not while it was still so raw it was practically bleeding all over the damn place.

"An' ya wonder why I occasionally threaten to shot you."

I was silent for a moment. The wish was all I could ever actually think about. I had to find some way to get the damn thing out of my hand, out of my system, if I was going to be of any damn use to anyone. Any use to my boys. I took a long sip of the bitter coffee. Shit could probably be used to strip paint. Oil based paint. "Three months."

"Shit."

"Yeah. My sentiments exactly." I took another sip. Bobby could use a few pointers on making coffee. Should have Dean show him it's down. Boy makes the best damn coffee... but no, that was the other Dean, the dream Dean. The _fake_ Dean. My Dean couldn't make coffee for shit either. It was better than this, but still. Shit! I barely restrained myself from slamming the mug down on the table. I wanted to break something.

"Dean thinks your wish was to have Mary back."

"But you don't?"

Bobby shrugged. "I happen to know that as much as her death eats at you every day, there are two people you actually love more."

"Yeah," I chocked out. It was suddenly hard to talk around the lump in my throat. I sat the mug down, pushed it away. "Dean was _happy_, Bobby. He had everything he wanted. His mom. A wife. A kid on the way. Closest thing he ever came to putting his life on the line was as a mechanic in the Corps."

"The Corps, huh?"

"Yeah. Kid did two tours, made staff sergeant. Sammy interned for the fucking Chief Justice of the Supreme Court." I barked out a bitter laugh. "It was the day before his wedding that I woke up. Mary and Jess' mother had been driving all of us crazy the entire time. Sam said I'd find some way to fuck it up. That I always tried harder for Dean."

"John… it wasn't real."

"I _know_ that! But sometimes I imagine Sam in that church cursing the day I was born, and Dean tryin' to convince him that there's some good reason I let him down. I and can't help feeling like shit for bailin' on him."

"John…"

"No, you wanted to hear this, so shut the fuck up and listen. We had a daughter too. Born five years after the fire. Sweetest thing in the world." I snorted. "Dean and I used to scare away all her boyfriends. Told Mary if she made as much fuss over our girl's wedding as she did over Sam's, I'd pay her to elope. Then I come back here and Dean's _broken_ and I still don't have a fuckin' clue how to fix him. And Sammy's bein' eaten alive with guilt and fear. How could I have let this happen to my boys, Bobby? What the hell kind of father am I?"

"As much of a pain in the ass as you can be, this is one fight you didn't start, John."

"I sure as shit didn't do a god damn thing of note to finish it either, did I?"

"Damn it, Winchester! You need to shut down this pity party."

"I'm tryin'… but… I miss it, Bobby. I wanna go out and find another djinn and pick up right where I left off. Just to see my boys happy. To see Dean _smile_ again like he doesn't have a fuckin' care in the world."

"But that won't really be Dean smilin', John. Or Sammy getting' married."

"Yeah. That's the only thing keepin' me here." I didn't want to admit it, but it was true. It was so fucking _true_. I felt like a junky trying to quite cold turkey. But my boys were here and they needed me, so this is where I'd stay.

"I got a lead, John. Oh how to read the book."

That snapped me to attention. If we could read that book, we might be able to end things before they went completely to Hell. Literally. "Really?"

"Yeah. But I think you're gonna want to take the boys to town when I crack the seals on the hex box."

I nodded. The last thing any of us needed was a repeat of last week. But that doesn't mean it sits right with me to leave Bobby here by himself. "I can send the boys on errands."

"John… you can't be here and you can't come back until I call you."

"You're not gonna need to call me 'cause I'm gonna be right fuckin' here."

"I don't need babysittin' John."

"The most dangerous fuckin' book on earth. You're words, not mine."

"I got it covered."

"Then why the hell can't I stay."

"Just in case. The boys need you, John. Nobody else'd do half the things you would to keep 'em safe."

"I can't ask that of you Bobby."

"You been askin' since the day I met you. I always understood the risk. Always took it willingly."

My breathing hitched a little. Few things leave me speechless, but the things Bobby's willing to do for my boys sometimes do. "You're a good friend, Robert Singer. Damn sure better than I deserve."

"Yeah, well I got low standards."

"Be careful, Bobby."

"Always careful John. When I'm not followin' you Winchester ijits on one o' your crazy kamikaze missions."

"Damn it, your grouchy hick ass better call me. Every hour on the hour. You read me?"

"You say the sweetest things." I glared at him until he huffed out a breath. "I will. Now get. You're burnin' daylight."

* * *

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Gordon was there, right behind Dean. He had a gun aimed at my boy's head.

"Down," I yelled as I reached for my own gun, too fuckin' far away to do any real good at the small of my back. I felt a flash of pride as Dean instantly obeyed, falling to the ground like he was boneless. That was quickly replaced with the fire of a bullet tearing through my shoulder. The force of the impact turned me nearly 80°. I struggled to right myself and aim my gun in the direction I'd last seen Gordon, but he was gone. Lost among the panic created by the gunshot.

"Dad!" Sammy was on top of my like a damn blanket, big hands everywhere, searching for damage. Who the hell told this kid to get so freaking huge anyway? "It's just a flesh wound. Thank god it's just a flesh wound."

"Dad, Sam? Fuck! We gotta get outta here."

"Sammy, let me the fuck go. I can walk."

"You can't drive, Dad."

"Nope. Dean's gonna drive. We needed speed and as much as I love the kid, Sam still drove like my 80 year old grandma back in the day. "It was Gordon. He was aimin' for Dean."

"I shoulda shot that sonovabitch between his beady little eyes when I had the chance."

"I'm the one who shot the bastard in the shoulder."

Dean snorted. "I didn't expect you to take a kill shot, Sammy."

"And why's that, Dean? 'Cause I'm soft?"

"No. It's 'cause you give people the benefit of the doubt. Hell, you'd try to talk Osama Bin Ladan out of being an evil bastard. Just the way you are."

* * *

The good thing about being shot on the weekend following Thanksgiving? The local clinic was closed. It didn't take much for the boys to break in and get me stitched up. I was relieved that Dean took charge of sowing up my shoulder after sending Sammy off to restock our first aid kits without me needing to say a word. The only thing worse than being stitched up without the benefit of painkillers was having Sammy do the stitching. Sam was good at it, no doubt. But he was still Sammy. Something about the raw empathy in his eyes was always enough to just about undo me.

"What was your wish?" Okay… so maybe it would have been better if Dean had gone on the resupply run. Sammy's puppy eyes could almost undo me by accident, but Dean… when Dean was on a mission, he was methodical. He could take me apart piece by piece until he found what he was looking for with the same efficiency that he took apart an engine.

"Dean…"

"It wasn't Mom… already pretty much told me that. You woulda just said so if it was about Sammy. It was that I wasn't such a fuck up, wasn't it?"

"Jesus, Dean! You're not… you've never been a fuck up." I wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled, until he realized that he was every bit as special as Sam. I sighed, knowing he wouldn't let this go until I told him exactly what my wish was. "I wished that… that you were happy."

He looked up at me through his lashes and suddenly he was three again and I was telling him that there was no way I could ever love anyone, not even a new baby, more than I loved him. "That's it?"

I snorted and gave a shrug that was cut short by the vivid pain in my shoulder. "I'm a simple man."

Dean shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips, as he went back to work on my shoulder. "Simple man my ass."

* * *

"What's that son?" We were at the post office, getting the mail that had accumulated there in the past several months since I'd last checked it. My arm was in a sling, but I had on a clean shirt and I was trying to keep busy in between Bobby's phone calls. Not that I was worried about him. Dean was hovering, trying to get me to get me to go to a hotel so I could lie down. Sam had given up that fight an hour ago and had commandeered a white plastic bin that said Property of the US Postal Service on the side to put the mail we were keeping in before getting bored and announcing he was going to the store across the street. Some things never changed. Sammy always got bored easy. Most of the mail always ended up being tossed, but some of it was valuable. I paused at a letter for Dean from a lab in Alabama with the word URGENT stamped on it in large red letters and held it up to him.

He shuddered and his eyes went a little wide before he covered his reaction. "When I was in the hospital after the rape, they took so god damn many tests… a couple of things showed up in the… in the cultures, but either I never caught 'em or the antibiotics cleared 'em up. The AIDS test, though… that was negative but inconclusive."

"Inconclusive?" I felt a tremor run down my spine.

"It takes at least six months to know for sure. The clinic Sammy found… they mail you the results. I forgot all about it."

"Want me to open it?"

He paused and I could tell he was seriously considering it. He took the envelope from me with a hand that was shaking a little. "No. No, I got it. I'll just… I'm goin' to the car, alright?"

He bolted before I could make up an excuse to follow him, leaving me in the post office lobby with an ache in my shoulder that I wished could distract me from the one in my chest. I gave Dean five minutes that felt more like a fucking hour before I finally gave up trying to sort the mail. I just threw everything that was left into the bin and followed him out to the car. He wasn't there, wasn't out front or down the street.

I found Dean in the back of the building upchucking breakfast, a sheet of paper clinched in his fist. My stomach lurched and all I wanted to do was run. Instead, I put a steadying hand on his back and began to rub his trembling muscles, trying to will him whatever strength I had left. "It's gonna be okay, Dean."

"They're dead. Salted and fuckin' burned. Why won't they just leave me the fuck alone?"

"Dean? It's not… AIDS isn't a death sentence anymore. Okay? We'll get you whatever the hell you need."

He looked up at me, still looking a little green. "I don't have… the test is negative."

"Negative?"

He pushed the crumpled paper into my hand. "Yeah."

I smoothed out the paper and sure enough, it was negative. "What the hell, son? You scared the shit outta me."

"It doesn't matter."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"I still walk around feeling like I'm a fucking inch from falling apart, Dad. I'll be fine, perfectly normal and then boom! I'll wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Half the time I can't even look myself in the eye when I shave in the morning even though I don't usually think about why. Or someone'll _say_ somethin' or _do_ somethin' that brings it all right back like it's happenin' _all over again_. When's it gonna stop, Dad? Okay, so I'm not dying. And I don't have the clap, or herpes, or any of the other shit they could have given me. They're not even _alive_ anymore! So when the hell am I gonna stop being blindsided by this shit?"

And what the hell could I tell him? I couldn't think of a single damn thing that didn't sound like a fucking cliché. So I did the only thing I could think of. I hugged him as tight as I could until he stopped shaking.

* * *

_A/N: I meant to post this a long time ago… but life, ya know? Why do I have to work? Why couldn't I have been born independently wealthy?_

_LOL, Yammy. Now you know. Glad you like the last chapter._

_All the Winchesters can be idiots, babyreaper. They're always rushing in to do something really heroic (read: stupid). I think it's genetic. In the original djinn ep, it was Dean rushing in alone and getting caught. And it could have easily been Sam 'cause he's done plenty of rushing in alone. Men._

_Thanks rog457! Dean would do anything for his family. Which is why I was constantly wanting to strangle Sam last season. He kept underestimating Dean over and over again. Much as I absolutely still love the kid, I'm not sure I've completely forgiven him._

_I'm sorry, metellicarfan… I'm trying. I really am. Glad you like the story, though._

_Yeah… I know illogicalvulcan. If there's one thing you can say about chapter 15, it's that._

_You're welcome, Haylia Jones! It was one of my favorites too. It was actually sad that Dean was relieved that John died peacefully in his sleep instead of trading his soul and going to hell._

_Thanks Iryann! I'm glad you like my little story! (Well, it's not so little anymore – it was only supposed to be four chapters long.) Dean's got a wicked sense of humor and even when things are going to hell he's still funny. I have to admit he's my favorite too, but I use his POV sparingly, because while the story is about him, it's also about how his family reacts to him and what he's going through and how it changes things. Hope you enjoy this chapter!_

_LOL, greendaypumpkin! And I bet you were right. Thanks!_

_Glad you liked the last one, redgriffen7, and I hope you like this one too. And you were absolutely right that the wish had more to do with Dean than Mary. It had everything to do with Dean._

_-Angie_


	33. FUBAR

**FUBAR**

I know I should let them know I was here, but I didn't want to interrupt. Dean never gave me this much. He always wanted me to think that he was perfectly fine. Ever since I was possessed. God forbid that little Sammy would feel guilty about anything. Dad's rumbling voice finally filled the alley.

"I wish I could say it was gonna go away. That you'll wake up one day and never think about it again. But that's never gonna happen, son. I still think about what happened to your mother. It changed who I was. There was no way it couldn't have. I'll never be the same guy she married and had two sons with. The things that happened to you… they changed you. I wish they hadn't, but they did. And you're gonna have to learn how to be who you are now."

Dean pushed away from Dad. "So,f I'm just gonna be this pathetic bitch for the rest of my life?"

Dad sighed. "Dean, I know you feel that way about yourself now, but you are so strong. I'm so damn proud of how you've handled everything, how you always make sure that Sammy knows you don't blame him. And you will get to a place eventually when you can look yourself in the eye again. That'll happen. Just give yourself time to heal, and don't expect that when you do you're gonna be the same man you were two years ago."

"I don't… I don't wanna be a victim for the rest of my life."

"You won't be. You _aren't_. Not if you don't let yourself be. And I know that it doesn't feel like it right now, but you'll be better. Stronger. Cause that's what the shit life throws at us does, Dean. It kills us or makes us stronger. I know that's a cliché, but only 'cause it's true. The guy I was before the fire? He couldn't have done half the things I've had to do to keep you and your brother safe. He was a nice guy. The kind of guy you'd invite over for dinner and who had aunts who pinched his fuckin' cheeks."

"You're aunts pinched your cheeks?"

He snorted. "One of 'em did. But the point is, I used to be an idealist. Sure, I saw a lot of messed up shit in Vietnam, but not enough to really wear the starry eyed clueless idiot off me. And it was war, you know? War's _supposed_ to be hell… the same rules aren't supposed to apply to real life. I thought that good people just automatically got rewarded just for bein' good. I had to learn the hard way that's just not true."

"Hell, Dad, I already knew that. I just want to be myself again. I don't even know who the hell I am anymore. If I flipped out half as much as I wanted to, you and Sammy'd have put me in a straight jacket by now."

"Maybe flippin' out every once in a while'd do you some good. Don't bottle all the shit up."

"Now you sound like Missouri."

"There's a reason I had her come. She actually does know what she's talking about. Even if she does like to threaten to abuse me with wooden spoons on occasion. You've already chosen not to lie down and die. The living with it's the hard part, though. Figurin' out who the hell you are now. Accepting that guy for who he is. Not expectin' him to live up to your old expectations."

"So they win?"

"Only if you stay stuck there waitin' to be who you were. That's why it keeps blindsidin' you son. You can't ignore it because it's part of who you are now. It ain't goin' away."

Dean looked down at the ground and dug the toe of his boot into the crumbling asphalt. Then he did what he always did when he had enough of what he liked to call 'caring and sharing'. He changed the subject. "So in your dream I was normal?"

Dad did what he always did. He let Dean get away with it. "I don't know what the fuck normal is, but you were still you only happy. You'd been in the Corps, 'cause for some reason that I couldn't figure out you still wanted to be like your old man. We owned a garage together. And, god help me, I wanted to believe it was real so bad. I didn't wanna come back." So maybe it wasn't much of a switch in subject. Should have known Dad's wish had something to do with Dean.

"Can't say as I blame you. Maybe we should go out looking for another djinn. Doesn't sound like a bad way to go."

"I don't want to go. Because that'll just be trying to ignore our problems. Won't make 'em go away. Much as I loved seeing you and your brother be happy and safe, it still felt wrong. Like I was wearing someone else's clothes, living someone else's life."

"Yeah. Well, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sick of hanging out back here. And Sammy? You suck at eavesdropping."

I jumped at the sound of my name, then sighed and came out into the open. "How long did you know I was there?"

"Pretty much the whole time."

"Then why…?"

Dean shrugged and walked past me. "Didn't want to have to repeat the whole damn thing later. Can we go now?"

I looked at Dad, a little bewildered. He was chuckling as he passed me.

"You really do need to work on your skills, son."

"Really?" I pulled Dad's cell phone out of my pocket and held it up. His eyes went wide and he checked his empty pocked.

"You sneaky little bastard." He looked like he was trying to be angry, and failing. He snatched his phone back.

"Thought I needed practice."

"Not with your pick pocketing skills, that's for sure. I'm findin' it hard to be mad at you though. So you wanna tell me why the hell you stole my phone?"

"I wanted to call Ellen, find out what she knew about Gordon. Should've known you'd already called her."

"Bobby?"

"Called a little over five minutes ago. He's fine. Gordon?"

"He's in an abandoned cabin just outside o' town."

"And you were going after him alone? With a bullet wound in your shoulder?" With the whole djinn thing so fresh, you'd think the stubborn bastard would rethink that plan.

"It's a flesh wound, and you took out his shoulder joint. They had to fuse the bone. I figure that makes us pretty much even."

"Dad, he's younger than you."

"Are you tryin' to say that I can't take out the likes of Gordon on my own, boy?"

I took a step back. This was dangerously close to degenerating into an argument. "No. All I'm sayin' is you _shouldn't_. It was me he kidnapped and tortured, and Dean who he just tried to shot in the head."

"Sammy, I'm not talking about holding the motherfucker's hand and singing Kumbaya, you understand that right?"

"I know you're going to kill him." I stood my ground, looking my father in the eye.

"Shit!" He rubbed at the stubble on his face. "It's bad enough Dean knows what that's like. I'm not going to have you gettin' your hands bloody too."

"I'm not a kid, Dad!"

"You're _my_ kid! When the fuck are you gonna get that through your head, Sammy? I'm tryin' to protect you here."

"And it's not fair that I never get to protect you!" He frowned at me and I took a deep breath. "Look, you can be the one to fire the shot if you want, but I'm goin' with you. Just in case somethin' goes sideways. You always said we had to plan for things to go sideways. Want me to beg?"

Dad sighed. "Alright. You can come."

"Hey," Dean said, "no way does Sammy get to go if I don't."

"Yeah. I figured as much. Can one of you get that damn bin for me?" He pointed at the US Postal Service thing stuffed full of mail that he'd dropped at the entrance to the alley. I was closer so I picked it up. Not that Dean looked like he was going to do it. 'Cause as the youngest, I was officially the pack mule of the family. "Tired of carryin' that thing around one handed."

* * *

"We need to deal with Gordon quickly," Dad was saying, his voice just loud enough for us to hear in the far corner of the dinner were we were sitting. "We don't have time to fuck around, and we can't just leave him to pop up and shot one of use again."

"Yeah," Dean agreed with a shrug. "That should be easy enough as long as we're sure he's where this Ash guy says he is. But what I'm worried about? How many other Gordons are out there?"

"There'll always be a Gordon, son."

There was a short pause. "You've had to do this before haven't you?"

"Sammy-"

"Dad? How many people have been after me?"

"A few," he said, looking down into his coffee cup.

I slumped in my seat and rubbed at my mouth. My father had to kill people to keep me safe. Jesus. "So… this probably won't be the last time."

"I suspect not. Never let any of the bastards get this close before, though. Azazel had me distracted."

"Did you know about this?" I looked at Dean.

"Hell no! I mean, I knew that Dad had a few run ins with hunters that they didn't walk away from, but I didn't know why."

"And you didn't ask either, did you?"

"Dude! What do you think I could have done even if I knew? You're not seriously gonna have a hissy fit 'cause Dad didn't give you a full report every time he had to deep six somebody that wanted to pop a cap in you. I mean, really Sam? 'Cause that's over the top even for you."

I took a deep breath. He was right. But what if they'd come after me at Stanford? I would have been clueless.

"I was having you watched when you were away at school," Dad's voice cut through my thoughts. And how the hell did he always know what I was thinking? "Sam, I would never leave you without protection."

I cleared my throat and forced myself to concentrate on the problem at hand. "So Gordon."

"We do it tonight before we go back to Bobby's. We hit 'im quick and hard, salt and burn the bastard and we make sure we leave nothin' behind that leads to us."

Dean lifted his mug. "So the usual."

"More or less."

Yeah. The usual. Could do a fucking salt and burn in my sleep. Only this time, it was a human being we were going after. That idea just left a bad taste in my mouth. But Dad was right. It was necessary to protect Dad and Dean if not myself. And God help me, but I never used to believe in necessary evils before.

* * *

The plan was to advance to the edge of the wooded area, then spread out before entering the clearing and cross at night fall, which was only about twenty minutes away. But something wasn't right. I just couldn't put my finger on it. I exchanged a glance with Dean and could see that he felt the same way. Dad wasn't giving the go ahead to approach the cabin and I could tell from the tension in his shoulders that he wasn't liking this any more than we were. "Boys," he hissed softly, "we're back trackin'. Somethin' doesn't smell right here. We'll deal with this tomorrow."

We turned back to the woods that we were still standing on the edge of when we heard a twig snap. We all froze, searching the surrounding area from where we stood. But the sound hadn't come from around us. It had come from behind us.

"Movin' wouldn't be a good idea, boys. You're surrounded by SWAT, with orders to shot to kill if you so much as twitch wrong."

"Hendrickson." Dean said the name like a curse. This was so not good and getting worse by the minute. As Dad would say, this was totally FUBAR. Men appeared from everywhere.

"Guns down real slow. On your knees, hands behind your heads."

Dad must have moved too slowly, or maybe too quickly, for one of the men surrounding us and took a rifle butt to the forehead. He staggered back and I grabbed him by the arm. Dean looked like he was about to launch himself at the stupid son of a bitch who hit Dad. And it struck me strangely funny that my first instinct was always to make sure Dad was okay, and Dean's was to try to kill anything that tried to hurt him.

"Dean! Stand down!" Dad's voice was harsh, desperate bark.

Dean stopped moving immediately at the sound of Dad's voice, jaw clinched and body trembling with the effort to control himself. "Yessir."

"Just… do what they tell you. Please…" There was a note of desperation in Dad's voice that I never remembered hearing before.

Dean looked down at Dad and all the tension leaked out of his face. He suddenly looked about ten years younger. He wavered on his feet before going to his knees and putting his hands behind his head. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. For the first time that I could remember, I was actually glad that Dean obeyed Dad the way he did.

* * *

I ignored the hum of power against my host's skin. This Bobby Singer had some potent wards around this place. Too bad none of them will do him any good today. "Hello there, Bobby. I don't think we've ever been formally introduced."

His head snapped up from the book he'd had his head buried in. Well, I'll be a son of a bitch. He figured out how to read the Prophesy. Not bad for a meat suit. "How'd you get in?" I could smell his fear, but he didn't show it. Figures that such a good friend of Winchester would have that same brave façade. Humans.

I rolled my eyes and waved a hand casually, sending him slamming into a wall so hard I heard something snap. Whether it was him or the wall I didn't particularly care. "Those parlor tricks you have to keep demons out don't work on me. But you were just about to find out what does. Can't have that. Besides, I really do need the Prophesy back. Gettin' down to crunch time now. Wanna make sure everything's just right for Papa." I picked up the book, running a hand over it affectionately. "Nice chattin' with ya. I'll make sure you and I have more quality time together real soon. I mean, any friend of John Winchester is surely a friend of mine."

* * *

"You got it back?"

I smirked at Ruby's tone. "Oh ye of little faith. Of course I got it back. Now I just need to retrieve the key."

"The key?"

"To the gate, sweetness. Do try to keep up. A roving band of vampires has it."

"Why would they have the key to Hell?"

"Because it's also a weapon. An incredibly powerful weapon that can supposedly kill anything sort of like your nifty little knife. I'm sending you to bring it to me. It's an old fashioned colt revolver with a pentagram on the handle. Doesn't look like much, but the good stuff never does. Just don't let them shot you with it."

"Don't worry. I'm on it."

"Good. Take Aaron. He's been keeping track of them for me. And don't take too long. We're on a schedule now. Tick tock. I'll be in Cold Oak if you need me."

* * *

_A/N: I switched POVs again in towards the end, just in case some of you didn't catch it..._

_Thank you __**medallionable**__! I'm glad you like it!_

_I know what you mean, __**babyreaper**__. They have the worst luck imaginable._

_Thanks, __**yammy**__! I love Bobby and John. Especially together. They're like the odd couple. Only their both grouchy and sarcastic._

_I know __**greendaypumpkin**__. He's just really getting over the numbness, you know? It was too overwhelming to really feel before. But know it's not and it feels like it hurts worse. If that makes any sense._

_I would say I was sorry about the scare, __**rog457**__, but I kind of did it on purpose. Okay, I totally did it on purpose. But at least I didn't leave it there till the next chapter. So it was a short scare. But most people go through denial when they experience something horrible. It's one of the steps._

_Thanks __**LuckyMe1**__! I'm so glad you love it! And I am always writing them into messes, aren't I?_

_-Angie_


	34. Interview

**Interview**

"He didn't have to hit you." Dean's voice was low and petulant. I had to agree with that point. Thankfully, John Winchester's control over Dean was just as strong as I suspected. Otherwise he would have been shot for lunging at the overzealous idiot who'd just assaulted a prisoner. Definitely have to knock him down a peg or six for that.f

"I've had worse. Hell, you hit me harder when we spar. Just settle down son."

Dean snorted as the agents moved closer to frisk them. Predictably he was carrying the most hardware out of the three. Two guns and three knives. Along with an eclectic assortment of paraphernalia that I suppose one would need when hunting superstitions, urban legends and old wives tales. There were no more incidents. And I had my proof for all the naysayers back the Bureau who thought I'd finally lost it in insisting that Dean Winchester was still alive.

* * *

"So," I said as I tossed the file I was holding on the table in the interrogation room. John Winchester looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. He almost seemed amused. "One of your pals ratted you out. Called in after that shooting in town earlier today. Knew details about you three I couldn't ignore. He seemed to think you'd be paying him a visit tonight."

John snorted. "Son of a bitch ain't my pal."

"Apparently not. 'Cause with friends like that, who the hell needs enemies, right?" I sat down across from him. "Unfortunately, I don't have much on you directly. I mean there is a nearly twenty year old murder charge and several vandalism charges along with a handful of felonies, but most of that is pretty much improvable isn't it? 'Cause you are one careful son of a bitch. But Dean's not so careful and he's been a _very_ naughty boy. I can probably get you on conspiracy charges. But between you and me? I would much prefer to pin it all on you."

"I'd much prefer you kiss my ass." He seemed completely unperturbed… except there'd been a fleeting reaction when I mentioned Dean. So I decided to stick with that theme.

"Dean's going to get the chair." His eye twitched just slightly and I kept going like I hadn't noticed. "You know that right? Killing a sheriff, in that state. Just executing him like that. If for nothing else, he's getting' the chair for that." I opened the file slowly and slid it across the table so John could see the photo of the charred body. "Single bullet to the heart, close range. Then burned his body in his house. Even if he's not as careful as you, he's every bit as controlled as you. You'd never know it was personal from the way he did it."

John's face twitched "I did that."

"Come again?"

"I did that. Dean just confessed because he was afraid they'd pin it on some innocent shmuck. If it had just been those fucking thugs, it wouldn't have been so much of a problem… but the sheriff complicated things."

"And you just let the kid cop to a crime you committed?"

John shrugged, nice and easy. "Didn't know he'd done it. Wanted to strangle the kid when he fessed up at the hospital. Couldn't believe he'd do that to himself. You want to hang somebody for this, I'm your man."

"You're lying."

"Why would I do that?"

"To protect your son. Better late than never, right?"

"Wanna know what you can do with your fuckin' condescension, Agent Hendrickson?" He said my name like it was a curse.

"Did he tell you what they did to him? Did that make you jealous? Someone else touching your boy like that?"

The chain manacling him snapped taut and the table groaned under the strain as he actually tried to lunge at me with a growl. He leaned forward, eyes flashing and teeth bared. "You sorry son of a bitch!" Almost as quickly as he snapped he calmed himself down. "I never touched my boy. _Nobody_ touches my boy. Why do you think I charbroiled their asses and shot that sorry excuse for a sheriff like the dog he was? They were lucky I didn't have any time to make them truly regret what they'd done."

"That why it was so efficient?"

"Yeah. I had other things to deal with. But I wasn't going to leave them alive. So I had to do it quick."

"I don't believe you, Winchester. I think you're lying to protect Dean."

"You think I give a shit about your opinion? I just made a confession. Now, why don't you be a good boy and run along to have that typed up so I can sign it?"

Yeah, so, John Winchester is a complete asshole. Didn't really surprise me. It did make me long for the days when we could beat the crap out of criminals with phone books though.

* * *

Sam stared at the table like he was making a decision. Finally, he nodded once and looked me in the eye. "They hurt him. We've been through a lot of shit, the three of us. But nothing ever made Dean shut down like that before. For over a year, I obsessed over what I'd do to them when I found them. He wouldn't tell me who they were, made me promise not to go after them. And I didn't. For a whole year I kept my promise. But Dad showed up and he got Dean to tell him everything when he figured out what was wrong. And I couldn't… I just couldn't let it go."

"You'd do anything for your big brother, wouldn't you Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Even lie for him?"

"I'd definitely kill for him. Already proved that."

"Do you know what you're giving up here, Sam?"

He cocked his head and snorted. "He's my brother. There's nothin' I _wouldn't_ give up."

Sam Winchester… not an asshole, just an incredibly sincere kid that loved his fucked up family too much for his own damn good. I leaned forward. "You know your brother needs help, don't you? He's killed innocent people."

Sam snorted again. Kid did that a lot. "Dean's a fucking hero. He's the best man I know. If he ever killed anyone, they sure as hell weren't innocent."

Okay. So maybe he was just as fucked up as the other two. I decided to change tactics. "They still call you Sammy? What are you? Twenty six? And they're still calling you Sammy? Bet they tell you when you're allowed to piss."

"Twenty five. And you don't know anything about my family."

"John seems like a control freak. He was calling me boy and ordering me around within five minutes of our interview." Sam let out a small, soft laugh. "Now, normally I'd think being called boy by somebody like your father was racial. But I think it had more to do with power for him. He's in charge. I'm not."

"Okay so maybe you do know a little about my family, but that doesn't change a damn thing."

"Doesn't it? You gave up all your dreams for a normal life for them. Now you're going to give up your life too? They're gonna ask for the death penalty."

Sam's eyes got wider. Kid looked like a deer in the headlights. "Guess I'd better get a damn good lawyer than."

I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. This wasn't going to be easy. Not easy at all. "Why were you in the hospital? Your father get a little too controlling?"

"Dad? You think my father did that to me?" He laughed outright that time. "God, you are so off the mark. I can count on one hand the times that Dad so much as spanked me, and I earned it every time. Dean hardly ever did anything Dad considered worthy of spanking. You wanna know who did that? The bastard who tipped you off kidnapped me, tied me to a chair and beat the hell out of me."

"Gordon? Why the hell would he do that."

"Because the crazy fucker thinks I'm the antichrist."

I laughed, but Sam just stared at the table. "You're serious? You mean, he thinks you're literally…" Dear God. How many of these nuts were there?

"He wanted to know what my evil plans for world domination were. Tried to beat them out of me."

"Jesus."

"Can't say I blame him. I'm the reason Mom and Jess died. The reason Dad had to run. The reason Dean never had a chance to have a normal life. I'm a… I'm a freak."

I felt a chill run down my spine. Sam's role in his family was starting to become crystal clear. He was the scapegoat. And as the scapegoat, he felt guilted into staying forever. Damn, John Winchester was some fucking piece of work. "Don't you think that your brother and father deserve to take responsibility for their own actions?"

"The only thing they ever did was protect me, and other people who couldn't protect themselves."

"The only thing they're doing is controlling you. Surely you're smart enough to see that."

"You're right about Dad. He's a control freak. But only because he's scared. He doesn't want to lose anything else. Any_one_ else. I didn't understand that before. I thought he was just a jerk, but I know better now. And Dean… Dean's so _in charge_ I can barely breathe sometimes. If you're asking me if I want to be free of that, than the answer is yes. And no. Because sometimes I feel like I want to gnaw off my own damn leg to get away. Whenever I do, though? Something really bad happens. Dad and Dean are protecting me. Sometimes it makes me feel like I'm two fucking years old and I'll never be a man in their eyes, but it's necessary."

"It's not necessary, Sam. Hopefully in time you'll figure that out."

* * *

I felt like an exhibit at the zoo, the way everyone in the room was staring at us. We were in one of those one horse lockups in a one horse police station that was basically one big room with two cells in the back. It was just me and Dad right now. Hendrickson had taken Dean to one of the only other rooms to 'interview.' Dad and I were both nervous, and it was probably about the same thing. How Dean was going to hold up. Dean apparently was locked up somewhere else while Dad and then I was with Henderson. Trying to keep us all separated until after we were questioned. Made sense. Didn't want us comparing notes and getting stories straight.

I stared back at the agents and police officers on the other side of the bars for a few minutes, before an idea struck me. They wanted to watch? I'd give them something to watch. I turned to look at Dad, fighting hard to keep a serious expression on my face. He didn't seem to like the look I gave him at all. "Hey, Dad? Remember that time you dropped me off in the middle of the woods with no food or water. Just left me there, and told me to find my way home? That was totally awesome."

Dad grunted. "Which time? By yourself or with your brother?" I narrowed my eyes at him a little, surprised that the old man was playing along.

"By myself. Though that time with Dean when I was thirteen was something special too."

He nodded. The last time, it took two weeks before I would say anything more than Yes sir or No sir to him. It had been the day after my sixteenth birthday. I was still hung over because he'd allowed me to drink for the first time and I'd asked for a reprieve. Dad just laughed at me and Dean called me a girl. "Yeah. I even made sure that you didn't have any breadcrumbs and you still found your way back."

I snorted softly. The man had actually checked me for bread before he took off. I'd tried that at thirteen. Dean teased me about it for nearly a full year. 'If we didn't walk out here, dumbass, how are we supposed to follow the trail back?' I could still hear Dean's voice, see his pale, freckled, smiling face. He got sunburned and Dad had smeared him with calamine lotion when we got home. "It only took me a day and a half by myself. And for the record? That tree bark tasted like shit."

The small crowd of people stared at us in shocked silence, clearly not sure if we were serious. It was all I could do not to laugh. Of course, I'd found out later from Dean that Dad had been tracking me the whole damn time to make sure nothing happened to me. He finally snapped and told me after I'd complained for the thousandth time that Dad hadn't given a rat's ass if some bear came along and ate me or if I'd gotten turned around and wondered deeper into the forest until I starved to death.

"Actually tree bark tastes infinitely better than shit." I wasn't sure if he was serious or not. Sometimes Dad did that, over things that weren't life and death. Told blatant falsehoods, almost daring us to call him on it. He just gave me a crooked grin when I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to read him for a lie. Sometimes I could tell, but I couldn't right now.

"You know, that time you waterboarded me was somethin' special too." I couldn't help my smirk of triumph when his grin melted into a glare.

* * *

I sat across from Dean, studying him for a few minutes. He fidgeted uncomfortably under my scrutiny before smirking at me and holding his arms out as far as the manacles allowed. "Take a picture, dude. It'll last longer."

I smirked back. "Why don't you tell me about that sheriff you killed, Dean?"

"What do you want to know, _Victor_?"

I laughed a little and looked down at the file I'd brought in. "I wanna understand you, Dean."

"You and Sammy should really talk. That's all he ever does. Try to understand everything and everyone around him. Questions every damn thing in the world. Do you have any idea how many times he asked me why the fuckin' sky was blue? I mean, who the fuck even _cares_ why the sky's blue? Drove me crazy, that kid."

"You talk about your brother more like he's your son."

Dean shrugged. "Dad was a single parent who had to make ends meet. Somebody had to take up the slack at home."

My sister was a single mom with three kids. The oldest ended up being a second parent to the younger two. I had never thought about how fucked up that probably was until now, but that's how things usually ended up in single parent homes. Somebody _did_ have to take up the slack and that somebody was usually the oldest kid. I took a deep breath and pushed that line of thought away. I'd bemoan Dean's tragic childhood later. "Yeah, home. A string of seedy motel rooms that charge by the hour, cheap apartments that charge by the week and backwoods cabins that didn't charge at all because they were mostly abandoned. Bet he worked his fingers to the bone to be able to afford all that luxury."

"So we were poor. Big fucking whoop. Not like there aren't millions of poor people in the world. I'm not ashamed of how I grew up."

I could see in his eyes that he was telling the truth about that. Even though I knew it was a losing battle, I had this need to try to make him understand how fucked up his childhood was. "But you're father was half owner of a business that turned a pretty good profit. Still does."

"And your point is?"

"My point is that you didn't have to grow up like that. Why would any decent father put his children through something like that when he didn't have to?"

Dean shrugged. "He had to."

"Do you know why your father left Kansas?"

"No… not sure how many parents discuss life altering decisions with their four year olds."

"They were going to take you from him. You and your brother." Something flashed in his eyes and I could tell that he didn't know that before. "You wouldn't talk and Sam… Sam showed evidence of having been exposed to a controlled substance. You're father originally claimed that he found your mother pinned to the ceiling. People started to believe that either he killed her, or her death triggered some sort of psychotic break. The final straw was his refusal to take you to a psychiatrist. Why do you think that was, Dean? Was he afraid you saw something he didn't want you telling anyone? What did you see that made you too afraid to talk?"

Dean laughed. "_This_ is your story? That we're a bunch of psychos? That Dad snapped one day and he ended up making me and Sam crazy too?"

"Why did he run, Dean?"

"Oh I don't know. Maybe it had somethin' to do with the fact that his wife had just died and the fucking _state_ was trying to take his children. Can you really blame the man?"

"You could have had a better life. Sammy could have gone to law school."

"We were together. That's all that mattered to me. And Sammy not bein' in law school right now had nothin' to do with Dad."

"It didn't? His girlfriend died just like your mother did. He blames himself for that, you know. Your mother and his girlfriend. Blames himself for pretty much every bad thing that's ever happened to any of you."

"Sounds like Sammy. Not the kid's fault. We keep tellin' him that, but he's got a skull thicker than Dad's. If that's even possible."

I snorted a little at that. Hard to imagine anyone with a thicker skull than John Winchester. "Witnesses saw your car parked outside the apartment the night Jess died."

"Cause I was there, _Victor_. I'd spent the weekend hangin' out with m' brother and had just dropped him off when I saw somethin' that didn't look right through the window, so I didn't take off right away. Then I saw the fire and I ran in to make sure Sam got out."

"But not Jessica Moore?"

He sighed. It wasn't a put upon sigh, like he was annoyed with the question. It was more like I was asking him about a shortcoming that embarrassed him. "There was nothin' I could do for her. I would have saved her too if I could have."

"And it doesn't make you a little suspicious? That she died the same way your mother did?"

"It wasn't Dad, it wasn't me and it sure as hell wasn't Sam."

I should know better than to try to reason with a madman. I slid a picture across to Dean. It was a woman, naked and very dead. She'd been shot through the heart. Dean twitched and I could tell that he recognized her. But there was no shock reaction. Dean Winchester was clearly used to seeing death. "Nothin' to say, Dean?"

"What's to say? Life's a cold hearted bitch. Then you die."

"Was she evil, Dean? Is that why you killed her?"

He sat back, his poker face firmly in place. "Never said she was. Just makin' a totally random observation."

"How about this?" I slid a picture of the body of one of the men Dean'd flambéed across the table. This time there was a shock reaction. He looked pale and he swallowed several times like he might throw up.

"Is that…"

"One of the men who raped you. Or what's left of him."

Dean closed his eyes and clinched his fists. "You know." His voice sounded tired, washed out. Like all the fight had just drained right out of him. For some reason, that reaction unsettled me.

"Is that what your father did to you Dean? Did he molest you?"

Dean snorted and looked at me like I'd just said the craziest thing he'd ever heard. He seemed to have recovered quickly from the shock of realizing that I'd figured out the truth. "Dude, you are so far out in left field right now that you're not even in the damn ballpark anymore. Dad would _never_ hurt us. He never even raised a hand to us in anger, and when you consider some of the really stupid shit me and m' brother used to pull that should probably make him eligible for sainthood or some shit."

"Saint John Winchester?" I snorted incredulously. Had this kid _met_ his asshole of a father? "Yeah, okay Dean. I honestly want to help you, but I'm not sure I can. You're going away for this, Dean. You and Sam and John. You'll all end up in solitary for the rest of your lives because you're too dangerous to be in gen pop. And you'll only see each other in court, and that's if you're not tried separately. And then at least one of you will get the chair for this."

Dean's eyes got wide, real fear flickering through them for a second before he shut it down. "You can't… You wanna help me? Let them go and I'll cop to anything you want."

He looked calm, but I could tell he was desperate to save his family. The only problem being that they were almost as dangerous as he was. John had made him what he was, and Sam did whatever he could to protect him. I leaned forward. "The best I can do for your family is recommend that we accept an insanity plea. They believe the same thing you do. That you've been out there hunting monsters, Dean. Those were _people_. Mostly innocent people with families who loved them."

"Please… I'll take my medicine. Dad taught me that. I can _do_ that. But… don't take them down with me. Please, man. You want me to beg? Okay, I'm _beggin'_ you here. I'll say whatever you want me to say, sign a confession, whatever the fuck you want me to do. Just… _please_…"

I huffed out a breath and shook my head. Unbelievable. All three of them were so eager to throw themselves on their swords for each other. If they did this in court – took all the blame for everything and absolving each other – this could end up being one big clusterfuck.

The door opened before I could say a word and one of the locals poked his head in. "We got a problem, Agent Hendrickson."

I could hear John Winchester bellowing my name, an edge of something to it that raised goose bumps on the back of my neck.

"Dad," Dean said softly as he craned his neck to try to see around the officer standing in the doorway. Then, louder, with more conviction. "Sammy!"

* * *

_A/N: Hey there! I changed points of view here in the middle and then switched back to the original, just in case any of you are scratching your heads in confussion. Also, the last chapter was named FUBAR. I should have defined it for those of you not familiar with it. It means Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. It's a term I've heard many military mean use when referring to a mission gone really bad, or any situation that spirals badly out of control._

_Thanks, babyreaper. Yeah, the boys are definitely in a pickle._

_I love Hendrickson, too, medallionable. I think his character was underused on the show._

_Thanks, rog457. I didn't want to completely disregard canon just because this is AU. And, yeah, that episode was Dead Man's Blood. Hope you enjoy this chapter._

_-Angie_


	35. Houdini

**Houdini**

Only one thing had ever made Dad sound like that, like he was barely hanging on to reason. I'd only heard it when he couldn't find one of us, me or Sam. When he thought something had happened to us, or in the middle of a hunt when we'd been thrown or worse and didn't get back up. But I was chained to the motherfucking table and I couldn't follow Hendrickson out of the interrogation room. I had a bad feeling in my gut, like I was about to get the proof I was wishing for two minutes ago but that I wouldn't like it.

"Hendrickson!" He didn't stop, didn't acknowledge that I was calling him. The cop who stayed behind was looking at everything in the room but me. Before he'd been staring at me in morbid fascination. Something had happened. "Please, uncuff me from the table. You can leave the shackles on. Just let me see what's goin' on."

"I don't know…"

"It was my brother, wasn't it? Somethin' happened to him? Please man. I'm not askin' you to let me go or give me a weapon. Just take me out there."

He walked over to the table, fumbling with his keys. "I really shouldn't do this," he said as he unchained me from the table.

"Thank you."

The cop led me into the main room just in time to see Hendrickson towering over one of the agents. Dad was alone in a locked cell, looking as close to frantic as I'd ever seen him look. That scared me more than anything else could. Dad was always calm, always in control, no matter how fucked up things got.

Hendrickson was looking around the room, looking lost somewhere between angry and bewildered. "How the _hell_ does someone just disappear from a locked cell?!?"

"It was a demon, you stupid son of a bitch!" Dad was yelling at him from behind the bars. "I need to find my son!" My heart stuttered in my chest. Sammy.

"You're not going anywhere, Winchester."

"My boy is out there somewhere! There's no telling what's being done to him!"

"I need the security footage yesterday!" Hendrickson bellowed at one of the deputies.

"He just… he just disappeared," the deputy stuttered out, looking shell shocked. "Right in front of us. One minute he was talking about his father waterboarding him, the next he was gone."

"His father _what_?!? You know what, never mind. I need that freaking footage because none of you know what the hell you're talking about! And get that fucking prisoner in the cell with his father!"

My heart was thundering in my chest and my mouth was dry. Sammy was missing. Again. And we were behind bars surrounded by at least a dozen federal agents armed to the teeth. I let myself be lead to the cell and pushed inside. The cop had to ask me three times to put my hands through the bars so he could take off the cuffs. Who the fuck cared about the god damned cuffs? My baby brother was missing. Should have lo-jacked the kid when I had the chance.

* * *

I sat next to Dad on the narrow cot. He seemed to have pulled himself together enough so that his panic was obvious. But it was still there. I could see it in his posture, in the way he twisted his wedding ring.

"Dad," I whispered just loud enough for him to hear me, trying to keep my lips as still as possible. It was the closest we could come to a private conversation under the circumstances.

"I'm sorry Dean," Dad said, whispering the same way I was. "I can't believe I lost him again."

"Dude, not even you can stop someone from disappearing into thin air."

"We've got to figure out how to get out of here."

"They took my paper clips."

"_All_ of 'em?"

Even Dad thought the number of paperclips I hid in the seams of my clothes was excessive. I shrugged. "Yeah. Once they found the first couple, they made sure they got 'em all."

"Damn."

"You think it was Azazel?"

"Can't think of anybody else. But how? The scapegoat was supposed to keep him away. And I never heard of a demon being able to just… fuckin' _teleport_ somebody out of a locked cell."

"Coulda been NotSam's brother." I shivered at the thought.

"That's possible."

"Sammy's been through a lot of shit Dad."

"I know, son." He put his hand on the back of my neck. "You both have."

"We all have."

"All I wanted was to end this, to keep this from ever touching either of you directly. I just… it just got away from me."

"We'll stop it together Dad. First, we gotta get outta here."

Dad's fingers tightened on my neck. Not enough to hurt, just enough to get my attention. "Don't do anything to get yourself killed, boy."

"Dude, I'm not stupid."

"Never said you were. But you can be reckless when it comes to us. You don't hesitate to put yourself in danger. I can't… I can't lose you Dean."

Hendrickson came out of the little office where he'd been watching the security footage with some of his agents looking shell shocked. "We're moving. Reynolds, Johanson, Matthews, you're with me and the prisoners. The rest of you go on ahead. Make sure there are no surprises."

"But, Agent-"

"If the next words out of your mouth are some sort of good reason why we should sit around and wait for another prisoner to pull a Houdini on us, you can save it. Let's move people. I want us on the road in fifteen."

* * *

Hendrickson had pulled us aside after we'd been lead out the back of the building, once again manacled like were freaking Hannibal Lector. Only thing we needed was one of those freaky masks. He glanced over at the agents waiting at the van before looking back at us. "So… demons?" He spoke quietly as if he didn't want to be over heard.

"I know it sounds crazy," Dad said, his expression a mixture of sheepishness, defiance and hopefulness, "but my son fucking disappeared from a locked cell in front of a room full of people."

"Yeah. I saw it on the footage. There was something else, too. Just for an instant, like a flicker. When I played it in slow mo, I really made out was two round yellow pin pricks. The rest was just a… blur."

Dad hissed through his teeth and I just felt everything inside me go cold. Azazel. "Son of a bitch!"

"But the ritual, Dad. The scapegoat."

"I don't know son. We'll figure it out." But Dad's expression said that he had a few ideas. Ideas he wasn't likely to share. As long as it wasn't something that I needed to know to get Sammy back, I was willing to let him have his secrets. I knew Dad well enough to know that he'd never hid something that I needed to know, something that would endanger me or Sam. It was just the things that he thought we couldn't handle knowing that he tried to protect us from.

"Alright," Hendrickson said, cutting into my thoughts. "I got three federal agents over there that think we're transporting you to the nearest Bureau office."

"Think?"

"We're going to knock them out. I've got your keys, weapons and phones in a duffle in the back of the van."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. There had to be some catch. "Seriously? You're not just gonna shot us in the back or somethin'?"

He laughed. "You watch too many movies, kid. You're car's in the lot across the street. Now I'm gonna unlock the chain from the cuffs. You gotta hold on to them so it looks like you're still manacled until the time's right. I'm sure resourceful men like you can still knock somebody out while handcuffed."

"Piece of cake," I said as I held my chain while Hendrickson unlocked it.

"You're riskin' your career," Dad pointed out.

"Yeah. What career?" He unlocked Dad's chain, let it go when he was sure Dad had a good grip on it.

"Why?"

"Because now I need to know. Always had this thing about knowing the truth."

"Maybe you should come with us. You'd make a hell of a hunter."

"Would I?"

"Yeah. You're an obsessive bastard." I snorted as we walked to the three agents waiting for us. Coming from my father? That didn't sound even close to the insult it should have. As predicted, it was a piece of cake for each of us to knock out an agent. It still felt unreal that Hendrickson was actually helping us escape.

* * *

I was sitting in the back seat of the Impala. Dean was driving and John was riding shotgun. I felt like I was having an out of body experience. What the hell was I doing? Aiding and abetting two dangerous felons. Every time I saw a flash of light or heard anything that was close to a siren – usually a car alarm – I was sure that we were caught. The jig was up and I was going to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. And I would never have my proof. How the hell did people live like this? Always looking over their shoulders? The twenty minutes I'd been in the back seat of this damn car had already taken about twenty _years_ off my life. John swore and threw his phone on the dashboard the third time his friend didn't pick up. "Son of a motherfucking bitch!"

"You think… the damn thing got to him, didn't it?" Dean's voice was tight and controlled. Before John could answer, the phone rang. Dean snatched it up from the corner it had slide into and handed it to his father after glancing from the road to the screen. "It's him."

I could only hear the conversation from John's end. I'd agreed to come with the Winchesters to search for Sam. Mostly because I really did need to know. I needed to understand. Sam had disappeared into thin air. But it was hard to dismiss everything I'd believed for the past thirty eight years just because of one incident. Okay so maybe it wasn't just one incident. The whole thing with the very dead version of Dean that had his blood type and his fingerprints, that we'd performed a damn _autopsy_ on… that figured into it too. Because how do you explain that? There had been other things too, small things that didn't add up, that didn't feel quite right that I'd chalked up to too many late nights, or too much caffeine or whatever was convenient. Right now? Thinking about it just gave me a huge headache. I'd always known nightmares were real. I just always thought they were human in origin. And, yeah. I felt guilty. Because if John and Dean were actually right, I was at least partially responsible for what was happening to Sam, whatever the hell that was.

"Well," John said to his son once he was off the phone. "The good news is Bobby's still sane. The bad news is Azazel stopped by and took the book."

"He… how the hell did he do that? Bobby's house is warded six ways to fuckin' Sunday!"

"Apparently, he's a hell of a lot stronger than we thought. Bobby sounds like he might be hurt, though he swears he's not."

"Like the stubborn son of a bitch would admit to it."

"He made some good headway with the book. Said that someone called the key bearer would be chosen in a place called Cold Oak. All the kids Azazel… altered… will be gathered there to fight to the death for the honor. He's lookin' up the coordinates for us now."

"Key bearer?"

"They're openin' the Hell's Gate. It's in Stull Cemetery."

"You mean… the place where _Mom's_ buried?" Dean laughed softly and banged his head back against the driver's seat headrest. "Oh, this just keeps gettin' better and better."

Okay. So I wasn't entirely certain that I hadn't thrown in my lot with crazy people. I sighed and slouched into the back seat. This was one long ass day. And it was only going to get longer. And if everything that had happened so far was any indication at all, much stranger. Maybe my sister was right. My recent decision making was definitely fucked up.

"Hendrickson?"

John's gruff voice cut through my thoughts. "Yeah?"

"These are the rules. I'm in charge. Whatever the fuck I tell you to do, you do it without question and without hesitation. Your life may depend on it. Two, Dean's next. If he tells you to do something, even if it contradicts something I said earlier, you do it. You trust the two of us and you might come out of this alive."

"That it?"

"No. My first priority is my boys. Somethin' happens and it's you or one of them, I'm throwin' you under the bus kid."

I had to laugh. "Yeah. I wouldn't expect anything less."

"You know how to find coordinates on a map?"

"Yeah."

"Maps still in the glove box, son?"

"Yessir." Dean's voice was still tight, controlled. I'd heard that tone before from swat during a mission. Most people would have been in the middle of a melt down but ths kid was completely concentrated on the mission. I have to say, that impressed me.

After a second of shuffling, John passed a South Dekota map back to me. "Find Cold Oak. You're our navigation." I took the map from him and unfolded it with a sigh. Definitely a control freak. But at least he know what he was doing here, unlike me. "How much iron you got in the trunk, Dean?"

"I got a few clips, consecrated."

"Good man."

* * *

_A/N: I'm shocked, _shocked_, that none of you figured out why John was freaking. I mean, I left you a trail of M&Ms (ala Dean in season one) *points at the colorful candy trail*. Azazel needs the colt, and he's going to Cold Oak. I thought for sure one of you would figure it out…_

_Thanks, __**Yammy**__!_

_The most interesting part, deangirl1 is that they're not even trying to cause reasonable doubt… they're just trying to take the fall. But reasonable doubt would have been the most likely outcome in a trial. Mmmm… maybe somebody should write a trial. LOL._

_Thanks, __**medallionable**__. Never understood way John always ended up being a bad guy in so much fic. And not just a bad guy, but an outright abusive bastard._

_I love Hendrickson, __**rog457**__. He's one of the good guys. He just never believed in the supernatural – at least not to the extent that it actually exists in his own world. A trial with the three of them as defendants would be a three ring circus._

_Thanks for the correction on chapter 31, __**moira4eku**__. I couldn't remember Barbara Eden's name and Google lied to me! The one thing none of the Winchesters would ever do is throw each other under a bus. And yeah, Hendrickson is pretty locked on Dean as the perp._

_Thanks for the review __**Eeyore08**__. I'm very glad that I've made the characters believable to you. I've tried very hard to make sure that Dean's rape and the aftermath to it is never trivialized or sensationalized._

_Hendrickson fights dirty __**greendaypumpkin**__. He'd make a good hunter._

_Here you go, __**hpsupernaturalfan**__. Although it is another cliffhanger, sort of…_

_LOL, __**redgriffen7**__, I was starting to get concerned about you. The gaps were so big between your reviews. Yeah… I'm getting the feeling that you hate Gordon. I could be wrong…_

_Thanks, anonymous reviewer (LOL)! Yeah, the Winchesters would never let one of their own hang alone._

_-Angie_


	36. Savior

**Savior**

"Dad… what're the iron bullets for?"

"Cold Oak, South Dakota. Place so haunted that it stands totally abandoned to this day. Sort of a, I don't know, old wives tale for hunters. Supposedly, the ghosts aren't your garden variety. Evil runs real deep there, so deep that some of the ghosts earn the title of demon. Might be too strong for just the salt."

"So, iron."

"Blessed iron. Between that and the salt…" I didn't finish my sentence, knew I didn't have to. I was risking myself, risking my first born, to get Sam back. If he wasn't already here, I'd be trying to figure out some way to leave Dean out of it. But short of knocking the kid out and locking him in the god damn trunk, I didn't think that was possible.

"Fuckin' _hate_ Azazel."

I snorted. Because hate was starting to be a gross understatement.

"Turn that up!" I'd almost forgotten Hendrickson was there, he was so quiet, but his panicked voice cut through my thoughts. I leaned forward and turned up the volume on the radio.

"…_reports are sketchy at this time, but it was believed that the fugitive Dean Winchester was being held in the jail. None of the names of the victims are being released at this time as not all the relatives have been notified."_

"Jesus! What the fuck? What the _fuck_?"

I turned off the radio. "The demon. Apparently he didn't want any witnesses."

"Yeah," Dean threw in, "but why wait till we leave, Dad? He could have got us if he did it when he snatched Sammy. It's almost like…"

"He wants us to come." I finished the sentence for him, feeling acid eat at my stomach.

"But why?" Hendrickson's voice was harsh. "Why kill them?"

Dean shrugged. "Why the not? It'll all be blamed on me. Nationwide manhunt, right? While we're drivin' cross state to find Sammy. Why the hell not."

"Son of a bitch likes playin' games," I added. "Just another game for him. Fuckin' obstacle course. Can we get to Sammy before the cops close in on us. We gotta ditch the car, son."

Dean sighed, ran his thumb lovingly long the steering wheel, a subtle gesture that most people would probably miss. "Yeah. But we gotta borrow somethin' that can move, Dad."

"Yeah. It's the weekend after Thanksgiving."

"Car lot?"

"Car lot."

"Always wanted to try out that new Thunderbird. That retro look is sweet. And I bet it can eat up those highway miles."

"I'll call Bobby. Have him come tow the car." We both knew that even though we'd take steps to hide her, there was a chance we'd lose the Impala. She'd get caught up in the manhunt and end up in an evidence lot somewhere. Maybe we'd get her back, maybe we wouldn't. Just another casualty in Azazel's personal war, just another family member that I was apparently impotent to protect. But at least with Bobby coming for her, she'd be safe if he could get her to his place. She was a liability right now though, and Sammy came first.

Hendrickson cleared his throat from the back seat. "Wait a minute… are you talking about _stealing_ a car?"

Dean squinted back at him briefly before snorting softly. "Dude, you just helped three suspected serial killers escape. I think a grand theft auto charge is the least of your worries."

Hendrickson fell back against the bench seat. "Point."

* * *

We'd left Hendrickson with the Impala while we liberated a new car and I was half considering leaving him there. The man was jumpy as hell and asked too damn many questions. I was a little surprised to realize the my son was serious about the kind of car he wanted to 'borrow.' The kid had always liked his cars the same way he liked his music - classic. Dean was disabling the alarm on the Thunderbird, when he suddenly went to his knees, a hand pressed to the side of his head. "Sonovabitch!"

I pulled him up with my good arm, leaned him against the car. "Son! What is it?"

"Vision," he gasped out.

"A _what_? Thought that was Sammy's gig?"

"I think the geeky little bastard figured out how to send me a message. He's alive, Dad. He's okay for now."

* * *

We were back on the road, five minutes out from Cold Oak. It was getting close to the witching hour, and I swear I can feel the malice in the air around this time of night. Dean seemed buoyed by the message that Sam had sent him, headache aside. We had confirmation that the kid was in Cold Oak and that he was still alive.

"We go in, we get Sam, we get out. No heroics. Sam is the mission."

"No arguments here."

"Wait," Hendrickson spoke up, and the kid did entirely too much of that. Bastard was reminding me entirely too much of Sam. And not in a good way. "What if someone else needs help?"

"We can't trust any of these kids, Hendrickson. If helping them in anyway delays and endangers our mission, we choose the mission."

"Isn't Sam one of them?" The question twisted up my gut. The son of a bitch had managed to expose every doubt and fear I'd had regarding my youngest son with five words. Because Azazel had claimed to have some sort of familial relation to Sam, and I suspected that it was a valid claim in some way because it may have been what enabled him to make an end run around that damn ritual with the scapegoat. But I wasn't about to say any of that out loud.

"No. He's one of us." I felt Dean's sideways glance like acid on my skin. He always knew when I was bullshitting, even when I wasn't willing to admit it to myself. "He's my kid," I reiterated and Dean nodded his head slightly. That I meant. That I always meant. And nothing that son of a bitch Azazel ever said could change that. "I may not always see eye to eye with him, but I trust Sam with my life. Always will."

* * *

One minute I was taunting Dad over some imaginary water boarding, the next I'm waking up literally in the middle of nowhere. I sat up, feeling a little unsteady, trying to fight back the panic. Much as I always rode Dean about it, Dad's voice was in my head just as much as it was in his. It was constant background noise, weighing in on everything I ever did. There was a time when I took great pride in doing the opposite of everything it told me to do. But right now it was helpful, reminding me that I needed to stay calm, take stock of my surroundings, try to figure out where I was and why. And how the hell I'd gotten here in the first place. Here seemed to be a ghost town. Great. And me with no salt or iron. Maybe there was some in one of the houses. Salt for protection and iron for defense. Because what use was a ghost town without the prerequisite ghosts, right? Panic was still tying my gut into knots, scratching at the edges of my awareness. But I ignored it, locked it away. Dad would be proud.

I wasn't alone here. There were three other people. Three other people with powers, who Azazel had altered, including Andy and Ava. I kept remembering what Dad said, about all the ones he knew who came into their power turning bad. And even if Dad wasn't just being delusional and I was the lone exception? I was still stuck here with four others. None of whom seemed exceptionally stable, except for Ava, and she just gave me a creepy vibe that hadn't been there the last time we'd seen each other. I don't know. Maybe I'm just being too hard on them. I was used to freaky. Hell, it was the story of my life. These people had just been introduced to it without as much as a warning. They had a right to be freaked out. Especially when they started dropping like flies.

* * *

I pulled Andy aside. "I got an idea."

He eyed me suspiciously. "Yeah?"

"Can you help me get a message to Dean? You know… beam it right into his head?"

"Dude… I like the way you think. Where is he?"

"In a… small town lock up…" Damn.

"Man… I have never seen anybody get into as much shit as the two of you."

And wasn't that just the absolute fucking truth.

* * *

I must have dozed off waiting for morning when I found myself outside again. I sighed. This was getting old.

"Hey there, Sammy. Welcome to our little family reunion."

I turned to see a man I didn't recognize. But I knew who he was. I'd heard about those yellow eyes enough. "Azazel."

He smiled brightly. "You've got real potential kid. The way you whipped everyone into line like that."

"I'm not part of your family."

"You are Sammy. Mommy dearest made sure of that."

"Just because you tricked my mother and fed me some of your blood doesn't mean anything. I'm not playing your sick game."

"Oh, he told you. Damn. I had this whole plan in mind where I'd show you what happened lo those many years ago and crush your will to fight me. Oh well."

I growled with frustration. What was with all this focus on me? What the hell was so special about me? I just… all I ever wanted was to be a guy. Just a normal every day guy with a family and nothing more exciting to look forward to then a pickup game on the weekend. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"Honestly? To help me save the world, Samuel Winchester."

That brought me up short. It was the last answer I ever would have expected. "_Save_ it?"

"Yes. You think the Creator gives a shit about you? Seriously, Sammy! You're just a bunch of ants scurrying around to him and he's a big bully with a magnifying glass and a pot of boiling water. Look at what he's allowed to happen to you. Your mother dying so tragically, you being fed demon blood, poor little Jessica pinned to the ceiling… and all those horrible, _horrible_ things that happened to brave heroic Dean. And what does _he_ do to protect you? You who play by all his rules and protect his so-called innocents? _Nothing_. That's what. Abso-fucking-lutely _nothing_! Just sits around watching everything, waiting to drop the hammer on you the next time you piss him off or just for a good laugh. I can't tell you how many hunters are in the Pit, Sammy, 'cause they just. didn't. measure. up. Weren't _holy_ enough for him. Now that's not a very good pension plan at all, you ask me."

I rubbed my eyes because this was just… weird. "It's _Sam _and I didn't ask you. Maybe what you say is true… but you're the one _causing_ all the suffering I've been through. So why the hell would I help you?"

"Just between you and me, Sammy? Much as I appreciated the irony and respected the absolute soul crushing brutality, I had _nothin'_ to do with alpha male Dean-o literally gettin' the holy hell fucked right outta that sweet little ass o' his. None of those good ol' boys were possessed… although I bet they'll make Grade A demons. Seems like you got enough evil hidden away in your foolish little hearts to make a mess of your own lives without our help. And God doesn't do a damn thing to stop us, demons or humans, from inflicting as much pain and suffering on the innocent as we want. It isn't the _meek_that'll inherit the earth, boy. It's the _strong_, and the _ruthless_ and the _violent_. Everyone else is just sheep for the slaughter. Time for you to man up, Sammy boy. What're you gonna be? A sheep or a god?"

I snorted, wondering if he believed anything he was saying. If he did then he wasn't just evil. He was completely out of his mind. "A _god_?"

"Morning Star can show us all how to be gods. Our _own_ gods… answerable only to ourselves. That was always the promise, Sam. That's what got poor Adam and Eve kicked out of paradise. That's what still ticks his holiness off more than anything else. Talk about insecure."

I felt my mouth go dry. "Morning Star… you mean…"

"Beelzebub, Satan, the Devil, Lucifer, the Great Dragon. The most powerful being ever created. He's been locked away a long time, Sam. A _long_ time. So long that he's a myth even in Hell. Most demons have never seen him and don't even believe in him anymore. But I do. I _remember_. He is our salvation."

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"It's time to make your decision, Sam. Join us or die. Only one of you is leaving here alive. Between the hunting and your natural leadership abilities, you can get rid of the others easy as pie. You're my favorite, kid. I'm seriously rootin' for you."

"What do you need us for?"

"Not all of you. Just one. Just one to help us release Lilith. She is the path to bringing back our true master, our father."

"Why can't she just be summoned or escape like all the rest of you? Don't tell me she's not strong enough. If she can't even get out of Hell herself, how is she supposed to free Lucifer?"

"She's the strongest of us all, the _first_ of us all. That's why she was banished by the Tyrant. She can't get out through normal means… only when someone opens the door."

"The door?"

"Haven't you read your Bible, Sam? If there's a key, there must be a door."

"I think you're the one who needs to read more. You lose, according to every holy book I've ever read."

"Propaganda. Fairytales to keep humans blind and obedient. Are you going to go ahead and do what comes natural and kill the others, Sam? Join me?"

"No. I'm going to stop you."

"No you won't. But I'm sure that you'll die trying. A waste, really."

Before I could say anything, I woke up in a cold sweat. I was still in the house, still behind the salt lines. Apparently salt did nothing to stop Azazel's ability to infiltrate my dreams. I suppose it never had, not if Dad's theory was correct that it was Azazel who gave me the visions to manipulate me. And, God, I hated how often Dad was right.

* * *

"Did you really think he would join us?"

I laughed. "No. I didn't think there was a snowballs chance back home that he'd take the bait. But the boy has to die for now, and no one can suspect that was part of the plan. I mean, what if they get ther before the kid takes his last breath and he can gasp out one final word or two? Only way I can get one of his men folk to make a deal. These Winchesters are so predictable, so _noble_. Not to mention obstinate. Best way to get any of 'em to say yes is to tell them that you want them to say no." I sat down next to Ruby and smoothed back her hair. She was one of my favorites.

"So you told him that Lilith will free the Master so that he'll do anything to stop her?"

"Including kill her when the time comes. That's where you come in, baby girl. You get to prove that you're the best of us all. You get to lead Sam in the way that he should go, get him to sacrifice our lamb at the appointed place and time. You get to be the one demon in the history of creation that convinces a hunter to trust her completely."

"Seems like a lot of things can go wrong with this plan."

"Yeah…. But they won't. Neither John nor Dean will be able to just let Sam go. They've spent his entire life protecting him, risk their lives for him without a second thought. One of them will fold. Might even argue over who gets the honor. Then Sam… so much frustration and impotence boiling under the surface. When the deal's made either Dean or John will be facing Hell and the other will be destroyed by it. And you'll come, riding in on a white charger, offering Sam a way to finally be powerful, to take control of his own destiny for once in his miserable little life. A way to save himself, save his family. Save the whole damn world. Don't you see the beauty of this plan, sweetness? They damn near created it themselves. There's no way they _won't_ do what needs to be done. It always had to be them."

* * *

_A/N: I have no idea why it took so long to write this chapter – maybe because none of the characters wanted to do the whole thing and I consequently changed POV three times. But I thought I was never going to get this finished, so I just finally let them do what they wanted to do. Like always._

_Thanks, __**hpsupernaturalfan**__!_

_Here you go, __**winchester87**__… hope you enjoy!_

_Thanks for the review, __**monkeymuse**__. Poor Sammy probably needs to be worried about right about now._

_I'm sneaky like that, __**redgriffin7**__. Thought you knew me by now! I love Hendrickson enough to want to play with him at least a little while longer. LOL._

_I think people underestimate the level of Hendrickson's obsession, __**babyreaper**__. Or maybe I'm just overestimating it…_

_Thanks __**Medallionable**__!_

_Yeah, __**Nongpradu**__. Everything is topsy-turvy. It's like the butterfly effect. You change one thing and that one thing effects things that you'd never think of. One horrible thing happens to Dean, and it changed everything, but the more it changed the more some things remained the same._

_Thanks, __**greendaypumpkin**__! I hope you like this one too!_

_Thanks, __**LuckyMe1**__!_

_Thanks __**willowtree311**__! I appreciate the love! Hope you enjoy this chapter too._

_While the end's definitely going to be altered, __**rog457**__, the question is will it be for the better?_

_Here you go __**jeanniewood**__… glad you're enjoying the story._

_Thanks __**Yammy1983**__!_

_-Angie_


	37. Righteous

**Righteous**

We arrived at Cold Oak just a few hours before dawn. Dean and I split up, approaching from different directions. I took Hendrickson with me. The kid was jumpy as a cat in the middle of a dog pound. Can't say I blamed him. You could feel the evil of this place like ozone moving across your skin. Even without that, the emptiness and desolation of the place with the run down buildings falling apart where they stood would have been creepy as hell. At least I didn't have to worry about a rookie who'd never held a gun before, let alone knew nothing about gun safety. He held his shotgun like he was comfortable with it, swapped out the bullets in his clip for the iron so he could use his own firearm. He was comfortable with it, even through his nervousness. That made me feel a lot better. But not enough to even think about letting him tag along with Dean. We ran into a ghost, looked like a little girl with hollowed out eyes and stringy blonde hair. The little bitch was fast, knocked the shotgun out of my hand, sending the shot I took wide. Another shot rang out shortly, just as she was racking her not so sweet and innocent claws down my arm and she dissipated. I glared at Hendrickson, who looked absolutely godsmacked.

"What the fuck took you," I hissed as I snatched up my fallen shotgun.

"It was a little girl," he said, voice hoarse but otherwise steady. He was breathing like he'd run a marathon but his hands were just as steady as his voice.

I shook my head. "Just looked like one, maybe it even used to be one. But its a monster now. It was probably killin' people when your grandmother was a gleam in your great granddaddy's eye. Sometimes they look innocent. And those are the most dangerous ones. You see somethin' that don't look right, shot first, have your existential musings later. Cause that bitch'lll gut you, you give her half a chance."

He clinched his jaw and nodded. "You okay," he asked as he nodded at the bloody scratches on my arm. Stung like a son of a bitch, but I'd had worse.

"I'll be fine the minute we find my boy."

With that we kept moving. He was with me, not just following blindly but watchful and managing to keep his shit togther. He wasn't gonna fall apart. I found myself hoping he'd live through this. Despite the strangeness of the situation and the hell it had to be playing with his preceptions and understanding of the world around him, he was still solid. He'd make a damn good hunter, and those weren't easy to find. We were making our way as quickly as possible through the town when I heard Dean calling me. Ghosts were tricky bastards, especially the old mean ones. Could be a trick. But it wouldn't be the first time I ignored that possibility when my boys were in trouble. I trotted towards the sound of my oldest son's voice, heard Hendrickson bringing up the rear. Then Dean called me again, and damn if it didn't sound like the boy was panicking. I had to force myself to stay at a trot because while I wasn't above rushing into danger, I wasn't fool enough to actually run into it. If this was a trap, I might need the extra tenth of a second to find some way to avoid it, or maybe just save the idiot behind me. But I did pick it up just a little, because anything that could make Dean sound like that had to be bad. What I saw when I rounded the last building between us and my son stopped me dead in my tracks and it took my brain a while to make sense of what I was seeing. Sam was laying limply with his head cradled in his brother's arms, Dean's fingers at his jugular. Not moving. Still as death. My brain whited out, reset at that thought. I didn't even realize that I wasn't breathing anymore until Dean looked up at me, tears flowing freely and I gasped at the sight of his pain. I knew what he was going to say before he said it and god, I didn't want him to say… would give anything if he just fucking wouldn't say it.

"He's not… I can't find a pulse… Dad, he's…" He let out a low, keening whine and pulled his brother tighter against him.

I was numb watching Dean hold Sammy's body. This wasn't real, _couldn't_ be real. I had spent a lifetime protecting my boys. This couldn't be how it ended. I wiped my face. I wanted to go over there, but I was too much of a coward. Dean was always so much braver then me. I'd never taught him how to be afraid, how to hide from the truth, how to run from a challenge. Dean looked up at me, confusion and pain clear on his face and in his expressive eyes. And through all that was his faith, his belief that somehow I could make this better. I couldn't fall apart. Dean was still here, still needed me. I went to my boys, my legs trembling, and fell to my knees beside them. I reached out and touched Sam's face, barely noticing the trembling in my hand. He was already colder then he should be.

"Dean… let's… let's get him off the ground, okay? Into one of the houses." It just struck me as wrong for him to lay out here in the dirt like this…

Dean was silent, staring down at Sam with a blank expression as he rocked him in his arms and I was just about to repeat myself, afraid he hadn't heard me when he finally nodded. It took us a while to get Sam up and into the nearest house, onto an old mattress just laying in the middle of one of the rooms. Dean and I just sat next to it staring at him, not speaking.

I felt hot tears running down my face and I didn't have the strength to try to stop them. I'd failed again. I couldn't save Mary and now I'd lost Sammy. It was bad enough that he'd never been able to have anything that he'd ever wanted, never been able to chase his own dreams, be his own man. Had lost the woman he loved. Now he didn't even have this fucked up existence that he'd tried so hard to escape. He was dead, gone. _Gone_. My stubborn, idealistic, argumentative boy. My Sammy. I forced myself to take a deep breath, to pull in air into my aching chest because around the time I realized that my son was dead, breathing had somehow ceased being involuntary. I had to breathe, I had to _live_, for Dean. I knew what I had to do to make this right for both my boys.

"I need to make some calls, son." I put my hand on the back of his neck.

Dean nodded. I squeezed his neck a little, not wanting to leave him, but knowing I had to. I went out to the front porch and pulled out my cell phone. Oh look at that, I thought bitterly as I saw that I had reception. We hadn't had any when we first arrived. I'd worried that I'd have to actually leave Cold Oak, drive towards the nearest town to find a signal. It wasn't a very strong signal, but it was enough.

"Bobby… I need you out here."

Bobby sounded tired, but he hadn't been asleep. He likely wouldn't have gone to sleep until he'd heard from one of us. "What's happened?"

"It's Sammy."

"Is he hurt?"

I closed my eyes tightly. Much as it always hurt me to see my boys hurt, I wished that was all there was to it. I wished that some stitches and bed rest, or even a damn hospital would fix this. "Just get here quick. Please."

When I got off the phone with Bobby, I found Dean on the back porch dry heaving. When he finished, he sat on the step staring off into the darkness. "Never used to throw up before the rape. Not since I was a little kid. Now all I do…"

"I'm gonna fix it, Dean, I swear."

"He's dead! How the hell are you gonna fix _that_, Dad? He's… Sammy's…" He curled in on himself, but he didn't cry. He was in shock.

"I'll work somethin' out. Bobby'll be here soon. Then I'm gonna go for a bit. Just an hour or two, and when I get back… we'll work somethin' out together."

He looked up at me and suspicion was clear in his eyes. "Where are you goin'?"

"There's just somethin' I need to check on."

"Dad-"

"It's okay son."

"Oh, god," he whispered as he looked away from me and hugged himself. He knew what I was going to do. I _knew_ he knew. Or at least that I was going to do something that I'd never cop to, not to him or Sammy. He always saw right through me. I sighed and sat beside him. He leaned into me and I wrapped my arm around him, feeling the fine tremors running though his tightly held muscles. He was going to be in pain tomorrow from all the muscle strain, I though than almost laughed at myself for thinking it. The least of his problems was a little physical discomfort. He took a deep hitching breath before speaking again. "I can't go back in there right now. I can't…"

"It's okay, Dean-o." I didn't want to be in the same room with Sammy's body either. It was just a shell. Sam wasn't there anymore, and as big as he was his body seemed so small and empty without him in it. The whole damn world seemed small and empty without him in it.

* * *

I'd been completely useless. And yeah, my damn curiosity was satisfied, but Sam Winchester was dead at twenty-five. As if he hadn't sacrificed enough. As if they _all_ hadn't sacrificed enough. I'd left his family to grieve. I couldn't bear to watch them slowly crumbling around Sam's body. I went outside and drew a salt line around myself – what a difference a day and an honest to God ghost town made – and sat huddled with my back to a ramshackle house, gun clutched tightly in my hand, my mind as blank as I could make it. Everything that I'd experienced so far was overwhelming. I'd have to process it all later, once I had some distance. Some prospective. A tow truck pulled up, kicking up dust, before rumbling to a stop. There was a car underneath a tarp on the flat bed. I wondered if that was the Impala and if the older man wearing a flannel shirt, jeans and a hat that got out, moving carefully, was the mythical 'Bobby' the Winchesters kept referring to. I didn't think a ghost would drive up in a truck, but nothing that had happened so far was anything I'd expected when I got out of bed this morning. I kept my gun partially raised as he approached. He glanced at it wearily.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Victor Hendrickson."

"Not… not _Special Agent_ Hendrickson? Of the FBI?"

I smirked. "Once upon a time. Just another fugitive now."

He snorted as he walked past me with a slow shake of his head. "Guess that'll teach you to steer clear of Winchesters, now won't it."

So, not a ghost. _Maybe_. I looked down to check the salt circle I'd drawn and had to laugh at my own relief to find it intact. Yeah. What a difference a day makes.

* * *

"What the fuck happened, John?"

"Dean said he heard Sam. He was laying in some brush. Pulled him out, but he d…" I couldn't say it. I squeezed my eyes shut, felt something cool against my hand. I opened my eyes to see a flask in Bobby's hand. I accepted it gratefully and took a long pull. "It was only a couple seconds, maybe. Kid didn't stand a chance. He was still healing from what that fuck Walker did to him. His muscles still only half healed."

"I'm sorry John. I know how it hurts."

I nodded my head, knowing that Bobby really did know. We'd bonded over my lose of Mary, my fear of losing my boys. Because he'd already lost his wife and kid. "Stay here with Dean, Bobby. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"What about you John? What stupid thing are you off to do?"

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" I didn't look at him, couldn't look at him. Couldn't stand to see what I'd see in his eyes.

He put his hand on my bicep, squeezed it with surprising strength and shook my arm a little. "This the special somethin' you been savin' your soul up for?"

"Goddamn it Bobby!" I took a deep breath, and lowered my voice so Dean wouldn't hear. "This morning I had two sons! Now one of 'em's… _gone_ and the other one's fallin' apart."

"Of course he's fallin' apart, John! He just lost his brother. He can get past this. Both of you can."

"No… I can't. I can't do that. Dean… We never talked about it, said it out loud, but you know what happened to Dean two years ago. He's been hangin' on the edge by his damn fingernails all this time and this'll push him right over. I'm not strong enough to watch that. And Sammy," my breath hitched. "After Mary, for weeks I woke up expecting her to be right there next to me and had to remember she was gone. Sometimes I still did it months later. It was like losin' her all over again every damn… every damn morning. I can't do that again, not with Sammy." I wiped at the tears that had escaped my eyes.

"Dean ain't stupid. He'll know what you did. You don't think _that'll_ push him over?"

"He already suspects. Boy always could figure me out, even before I could figure myself out sometimes. That's why I need you here. Make sure he stays put."

"Jesus, John," Bobby hissed quietly.

"Hell, Bobby, they'll be damn near forty in ten years. I'll be in my sixties. I probably won't even live that long anyway. Not like I got a low risk occupation."

"Yeah, but then there's that whole eternity in Hell part that comes after."

"It's my _boy_, Bobby." My voice was hoarse and filled with pain so deep that I couldn't lock it away no matter how hard I tried. "I'll pay that price gladly. For either one of 'em."

"John, I think this was part of the plan all along."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Azazel's tryin' to raise Lucifer. According to the book he's locked away with sixty six seals and there are a number of things that can break 'em, but the first seal and the last are very specific. I didn't get to the last one, but I know what the first one is. A righteous man must fall in hell. "

I snorted. "You tryin' to imply that I'm a righteous man, Bobby?"

"Much as it pains me t' admit it, but yeah. You are. One of the damn few I ever met."

"I've done a lot of truly bad shit, Bobby. I'm as much of a sinner as you'll ever find."

"But all of it was for the love of your sons, whether I agreed with it or not. If that ain't righteous, I don't know what is."

"Yeah, well if this is part of his plan, Azazel's gonna be deeply disappointed with what he gets with me."

"Dammit, John," Bobby said softly, tears in his eyes. Over twenty years I'd known him and this was the closest I'd ever seen him to crying. "You're a damn fool. All of you Winchesters are damn fools. It's gotta be fuckin' genetic."

"Just… just keep Dean safe for me. Please, Bobby. I'll be back as soon as I can."

* * *

I felt bad for knocking Bobby out and it had been dangerous following Dad in the middle of the night, no headlights on, trying to stay far enough behind him that he wouldn't notice the odd void behind him. But it was worth it when I realized where he was stopping… a crossroads. I knew he was about to do something desperate but I hadn't quite allowed myself to believe that it would be _this_ desperate. He never would have left us the way he did if he weren't though… not so soon after Sammy… I ruthlessly stopped myself from completing that thought, pushed the image of Sammy's cooling, stiffening body laying in a salt circle away, slammed the lid on it. This wasn't right. Dad couldn't sell his soul. I understood why he wanted to, but I couldn't let him. I scrambled to kill the Impala's engine before Dad killed his so he wouldn't notice the rumble and picked up the shotgun I'd put in the passenger's seat earlier.

By the time I'd snuck up behind Dad, he was already talking to the demon. Dad was too upset to realize I was coming up behind him, but the demon looked at me over his shoulder and smiled just before sealing the deal. Dad's head jerked around and just as recognition was being chased out of his eyes by alarm, I slammed the butt of my rifle into the side of his head, grief and shock making him too slow to block me, wincing as I did it. I'd never hit my father on purpose before, never outside of sparring, and it felt all kinds of wrong to do it now. To sucker punch him like some kind of bitch.

"Come to save Daddy dearest from selling his soul? Don't you want baby brother back?" The bitch was taunting me.

"I want you to take mine instead."

She smiled, her red eyes seeming to get a little brighter. "Same terms as Daddy dearest. You get one year before the hounds come for you."

I shivered. Dad would have been dead in a year's time if I hadn't gotten here in time. Dead and in Hell. "I have one request, and if you can make it happen, you can take me now." I'd had plenty of time to think about this on the way over here. I wanted to make everything right, not just bringing Sammy back. Everything.

She raised an eyebrow in surprise as she ran a skanky assed finger down my chest. "Oh, so _eager_. What is it you want?"

"Make them forget me."

She blinked at me, frowning in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I said as I took a step closer to her, my nose flaring at the faint scent of sulfur. I could almost feel Dad's fingers digging gently into my neck. _I can't… I can't lose you Dean_. Can't miss what you don't remember, right? "Make them forget I ever existed. Not just Dad and Sam. _Everyone_. If they ever figured out what I did, they'd never have peace. And they'd… they'd have been better off without me anyway."

"Poor Dean. So broken. So beautiful like this. I can't wait to see what we can make of you in Hell."

I closed my eyes when she touched me and my skin crawled not just from the physical contact, not just because of what she was, but from what she was _saying_. She was right. I was broken. Too broken to fix and Dad and Sammy deserved to be free of me. Completely free. This was the only way to make sure that Sam lived and that they would both be okay without me dragging them down. My breath hitched and tears burned my eyes. There was one last thing. "The Impala," I said softly, opening my eyes. "Make it Sammy's."

She smirked and rolled her eyes. "Would you like fries and a coke with that too?"

I shook my head. "That's it."

She nodded. "It's gonna take some serious juice to make all those people forget you. Especially since you've screwed about half the single women in the continental United States between the ages of eighteen and forty. But you got a deal."

She lifted herself up on her toes and kissed me. It wasn't bad, if you didn't count the bitter taste of sulfur or the fact that her fingers were digging into my cheeks almost hard enough to crack my jaw. Suddenly I felt something squeezing my heart. It stuttered and I staggered away from her, fell to my knees. The crossroads bitch was gone when I looked up, had probably decided to get out of dodge before Dad could come to. I tried to draw in a breath, tried to speak, call my father, but the pressure on my chest was just too much. My heart stuttered again. How hard had I hit him? Would he wake up before I died? I didn't want to die alone, even if he probably wouldn't know who the hell I was. Hell would probably scare me too if I had enough time to really consider it. I started to topple over but big hands caught me before I hit the ground. I found myself looking up at my father and I could see that he didn't recognize me. If I'd had the breath, I would have laughed at the irony. Son of a bitch was still catching me even when he didn't know who the hell I was. Even when I was dying so he wouldn't have to anymore. I reached out, grabbed his shirt trying to hold on to him even as the world slipped away into darkness. He was trying frantically to figure out what was wrong with me, trying to fix me even though he thought I was some random stranger. But I couldn't be fixed. I never could, no matter how hard he tried. I wanted to tell him I was sorry but it was too late. Just as well anyway. He always hated it when I apologized.

* * *

_A/N: Okay… before everyone gathers in my front yard with torches and pitchforks, there is a sequel. I've already done an outline and written about a third of it in disjointed pieces as 'scenes' would come to me and the first chapter should be up in about two weeks. Dude! You should all know I wouldn't just leave it there like that. I mean, I know I'm always throwing you curveballs and upping the ante, but I'm not that mean. Usually. This just felt like the end of this story, you know? As always, your comments, constructive criticisms and reviews are always, always welcome. Thank you so much for sticking with me and showing me all the love you have throughout this story and I only hope that you enjoy the sequel as much as you've enjoyed _Lost_._

_Yeah, **NongPradu**. Poor, poor Dean._

_Thanks **Medallionable**! I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this one as much._

_Thank you so much, **Yammy**! The demon POVs are some of my favorite. He's crazy and evil… but he's one of those characters you love to hate, you know?_

_Unfortunately for the Winchesters, **babyreaper**, Azazel's a master chess player. And they've been playing checkers all this time._

_Hey, **Rog457**. I almost wish I could have sacrificed Hendrickson to spare Dean. Man, for someone who claims to love the guy, I've sure been breaking him a lot._

_Thanks, **grendaypumpkin**. Azazel's logic is twisted, but there's that little grain of truth to it that makes it almost plausible._

_I'm sorry **monkeymuse**. I think everybody forgot that Sam just had surgery like a month before and wasn't fit to fight at all. He never even made it to being stabbed in the back. Poor bastard._

_I hope your father is doing better, **Eeyore08**! Family's more important than my story, so no need to be sorry. Hendrickson's gonna be a big part of the sequel. Not promising if or how long he'll live through it though._

_Thanks for pointing that out, **LuckyMe1**. I fixed! Glad you enjoyed the chapter._

_-Angie_


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